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The  American  Marquis 


NICK   CARTER 


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'-BLiSHERS 


9r*siwti^»*?j:^ii: 


GIFT  OF 
Professor  Esslg 


THLAMERICAN  MARQUIS; 

OR, 

DETECTIVE  FOE  VENGEANCE, 


A  Story  of  a  Masked  Bride  and  3  Husitiand's  Quesh 


By  Nick  Carter, 


Author  of 

"THE  OLD  DETECTIVE'S  PUPIL,"  -THE  WALL  STREET  HAUL,' 
♦'THE  CRIME  OF  A  COUNTESS,"  ETC. 


(   ^ 


L.      ---^ 


NEW   YORK: 

STREET  &  SMITH,  Publishers, 

29  Rose  Street. 


•     i 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1889, 

Bi  STREET  &  Smith, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A    MASKED    STRAKGER. 

A  quaint  old  town  is  Morlaix,  in  Upper  Britanny,  and  full 
of  rambling' streets  and  ancient^  houses. 

Awav  at  the  end  of  the  Rue  Perelle,  and  standing  in  deso- 
late solitude,  as  if  waiting  for  the  sleepy  old  town  to  catch 
up  with  it,  is  a  dilapidated  house. 

It  is  abandoned  now,  and  it  ought  to  have  been  so  half  a 
century  ago.     But  it  was  not. 

Less  than  twenty  years  ago,  had  the  townspeople  been 
asked  who  lived  there,  they  would  have  shrugged  their 
shoulders  and  spread  out  their  hands  in  good  French  fashion 
and  said: 

'*  An  artist — an  American.     Fauvre  diable T 

*'  That  was  all  they  knew.  He  was  an  artist,  and  an 
American;  so,  of  course,  he  was  a  poor  devil. 

Clinton  Hastings  would  have  said  something  very  like  it, 
too,  had  his  opinion  of  himself  been  asked. 

More  especially  had  he  been  asked,  one  wild  November 
night,  as  he  sat  with  his  eyes  intently  fixed  on  the  easel  be- 
fore him. 

A  young  man,  and  a  handsome  one,  too,  in  spite  of  the 
uncared  for  curling,  brown  beard  which  hid  the  whole  lower 
part  of  his  face.  In  spite  of  the  threadbare  clothes  so  care- 
lessly worn;  in  spite  of  the  half -reckless,  half -gloomy,  al- 

M58()90 


6  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

most  sneering  expression  hovering  about  the  nostrils  of  his 
clear-cut  nose  and  the  corners  of  his  clear  gray  eyes. 

*^Bah!^^he  muttered,  scoirnfully  thrusting  his  hands  deep- 
er into  the  pockets  of  his  blouse  and  stretching  his  legs  out 
like  a  pair  of  compasses,  ^'  I  do  nothing  but  dream!  I  love 
a  shadow!  Another  man^s  wife,  it  may  be!  Ye  gods  and 
little  fishes!  I  see  a  woman  once;  I  paint  her  picture  from 
memory;  I  sit  and  dream.  Ay,  and  starve,  too.  Clinton 
Hastings,  you  are  an  ass  I'* 

The  cloth  covering  was  angrily  thrown  over  the  ravishing 
face,  and  the  artist  went  on  muttering: 
^  /*  Better  look  at  voar  rejected  picture,  Clinton,  my  boy.'' 

<to  disdai';i.fuyy'flire>w  the  cloth  from  a  large  piece  of  can- 
vas, disclofeiiig  alaiidgcape  view. 

\  :  &ilfei^t?y  he ' bok  ed,  at  it  for  several  minutes,  holding  a 
\iamp's6'  asto  throw 'th3' light  upon  it. 

Suddenly  he  started,  and  turned  bis  head  to  listen. 

He  heard  a  soft  footfall  on  the  creaking  stairs. 

A  grim  smile  lighted  the  gray  eyes  as  Clinton  held  a  dia- 
logue with  himself. 

^^  A  thief? 

"  Nothing  to  steal — except  my  picture — -• 

^^  A  beggar? 

*^  Nothing  to  eat — except  my  picture, 

**  A  friend ?'' 

^'  Mo7i  Dieu!  I  have  none — except  my  picture.*' 

The  first  two  times  he  made  his  answer  he  nodded  jeer- 
ingly  at  his  landscape,  but  the  last  time  he  turned  toward 
his  portrait  with  a  half-savage,  half-ecstatic  expression. 

He  was  madly  in  love  with  a  shadow  I 

A  knock  sounded  on  his  door. 

"Come  in!'* 

The  door  opened  wide,  and  a  masked  man,  robed  to  his 
feet  in  a  heavy  cloak,  stood  framed  in  the  door- way. 

Whatever  the  young  artist  may  have  felt,  he  betrayed  no 
emotion,  but  speaking  with  the  utmost  coolness  and  with 
ironical  politeness,  said: 

"Ah!  Bar  soir,  monsieur.  What  shall  it  be — my  money 
or  my  life?" 

"  If  I  wanted  money  I  would  not  come  here.  If  I  wanted 
your  life  I  would  wait  a  few  days.** 

"  Aha,  Monsieur  le  Diable,  I  see  you  know  me  well.  Who 
are  you,  then?** 


THE  A3^IERICAN  MAHQUIS.  7 

^^That  is  of  no  conseqiienoe/^ 

^'Is  it  not?'  Well,  7m7i  ami,  let  me  say  to  you  two 
things.  First,  I  do  not  like  masked  strangers  to  come  to 
me  at  night.  Second,  if  they  do  come  I  throw  them  down 
stairs." 

The  prospect  of  an  encounter  seemed  to  give  the  artist 
positive  pleasure,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  as  he  made  a  quick 
step  forward. 

**Stop!'^  said  the  stranger,  coolly;  ^^I  know  you  can 
throw  me  down  stairs  to-night.  You  are  stronger  than  I 
am.  But  what  good  would  it  do  you?  I  could  come  here 
again  a  week  hence. ^' 

''Ah,  yes,  I  see,'^  cried  Clinton,  with  a  short  laugh. 
^'  You  mean  that  in  a  week  from  now  I  shall  be  so  feeble 
from  starvation  that  I  cannot  throw  you  down.^^ 

"  Exactly.'' 

^'I  admire  your  forethought,  but  not  your  wisdom.  You 
only  make  me  more  anxious  to  take  advantage  of  the  golden 
opportunity.  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  throw  you 
down  stairs." 

The  artist  was  still  smiling,  but  the  reckless  humor  in 
liim  was  shown  in  the  quick  way  in  which  he  laid  hold  of 
the  stranger. 

*'  You  don't  know  yet  what  I  came  for,  monsieur.'' 

On  the  point  of  being  thrown  down  stairs,  the  man  in  the 
mask  was  nevertheless  quite  cool. 

'*  True,"  ejaculated  Clinton,  releasing  the  man;  ^'1  can 
learn  that  first  and  remove  you  afterward.  Business  before 
pleasure,  vou  know.     Sit  down.'' 

'^  Thank  you." 

'^  Shall  I  take  off  your  mask,  or  will  you  save  me  the 
trouble?" 

'*  Neither,  if  you  please.  You  must,  in  fact,  promise 
that  you  will  not  seek  to  penetrate  my  disguise,  or  I  will  not 
reveal  my  business." 

•'  That  promise  will  not  prevent  me  from  dropping  you 
over  the  balusters,  will  it?" 

'^Oh,  no.     You  may  do  that  afterward,  if  you  wish." 

''All  right,  monsieur.  You  have  my  promise,  and  I  wait 
eagerly  for  the  happy  moment  when  our  interview  shall  have 
ended." 

With  mock  politeness  the'  artist  sat  down.  The  stranger 
began  as  if  telling  a  story: 


8  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^'  Your  name  is  Clinton  Hastings;  your  picture  was  re- 
jected by  the  Academy;  you  are  hungry  now;  unless  you 
have  aid  you  will  starve  to  death;  you  have  no  friends — no 
hope/^ 

Clinton  bowed,  smiled  cheerfully,  and  said: 

^^  As  I  have  already  partially  suggested,  you  are,  perhaps, 
the  devil.  I  think  I  must  use  the  window  instead  of  the 
stairs.     But  go  on;  you  interest  me.'^ 

^^  To-morrow  you  may  have  ten  thousand  francs,  if  you 
will." 

'^Thenyouare  really  the  devil,  and  it  is  my  soul  you 
want.  Dear  me!  Now,  I  didn't  suppose  my  soul  was 
worth  so  much.'' 

^^  Keep  your  soul;  I  only  want  your  body  for  to-night." 

^^  Ah,  yes!  I  comprehend  now;  you  wish  me  to  kill  some- 
body for  you.  Eeally,  I  am  sorry  the  window  is  not  higher." 

^'  I  am  glad  you  can  be  so  merry." 

^^Soam  I." 

^' My  proposition  is  this:  You  are  to  marry  a  woman 
whose  face  you  shall  not  see " 

'^  Your  family  was  born  masked,  then?" 

^^  Whose  name  you  shall  not  know,  and  whom  you  must 
leave  as  soon  as  the  marriage  ceremony  is  over." 

''What  a  charming  mystery!  Why,  it  is  like  the  good 
old  times.     But  go  on;  you  begin  to  amuse  me." 

^^  You  will  let  me  blindfold  you,  and  take  you  to  the  place 
where  the  bride  is.  After  the  wedding  I  will  give  into  your 
hands  the  ten  thousand  francs,  and  bring  you  back  here, 
still  blindfolded." 

^^  Are  you  ready  now?    Shall  I  open  the  window?" 

**  Do  you  refuse?  Starvation  if  you  do,  and  plenty  if  you 
do  not." 

'^  Positively,  monsieur,  you  mortify  me.  I  knew,  my- 
self, that  I  was  a  fool,  but  how  on  earth  did  you  dis- 
cover it?" 

^'1  do  not  understand  you,  monsieur." 

*^  Shall  I  explain,  and  then  drop  him  out,  or  shall  I  drop 
him  out  at  once?" 

The  young  artist  asked  himself  this  question  so  calmly 
that  the  masked  man  was  visibly  affected  by  it,  and 
moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  Evidently  his  proposition  had 
not  been  accepted,  as  he  had  expected.  He  affected  com- 
posure, however. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAEQUIS.  9 

'^It  would  suit  me  better  if  you  would  explain  first/'  he 
said. 

''  Well,  I  will,  then.  I  know  that  no  marriage  that  can 
be  performed  to-night  will  be  legal,  because  banns  must  be 
published  on  two  Sundays.  Besides,  no  mayor  would  marry 
masked  people.  Besides,  the  woman's  name  would  have  to 
be  mentioned.  Will  you  walk  to  the  window,  or  shall  I 
carry  you?'" 

''If  those  are  your  only  objections,  listen.  The  banns 
have  been  published  as  required  by  law/' 

''  How  could  that  be  done?'' 

''  1  was  so  sure  you  would  accept,  that  I  had  your  name 
used." 

'^  I  wish  you  could  realize  my  great  grief  that  the  window 
is  so  low." 

*^The  mayor  has  consented  to  be  in  attendance  and  per- 
form the  ceremony,  and  I  have  four  witnesses  all  ready. 
The  woman's  name  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  shut  your  ears 
against,  and  the  mayor  has  agreed  to  speak  it  softly." 

"  Your  forethought  makes  me  tremble." 

^^Why?" 

^'  Because  I  fear  you  may  have  laid  a  feather  bed  under 
my  window  to  fall  on." 

^'^  Oh,  come,  now,  monsieur,  have  done  with  jesting.  I 
will  reveal  the  mystery,  suppressing  only  the  names." 

'^Do  not  suppress  the  names  on  my  account,"  interrupted 
the  artist,  who  took  a  malicious  pleasure  in  trifling  with  his 
strange  visitor. 

CHAPTER  11. 

A   MYSTERIOUS   RIDE. 

*'Our  family  comprises  four  brothers  and  a  sister." 

^'Four  of  a  kind,  queen  high!"  said  Clinton,  interrupting. 

'*  We  are  a  noble  family,  but  poor.  A  wealthy  uncle,  in 
dying,  left  his  whole  fortune  to  us  equally;  to  be  divided, 
however,  only  when  Dur  sister  should  marry. 

'' Our  sister,  unfortunately,  is  determined  upon  going 
into  a  convent. 

*SShe  has  consented,  however,  to  this  marriage,  with  the 
understanding  that,  as  soon  as  it  is  over,  she  may  go  to 
Austria,  there  to  enter  a  convent. 


10  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

'^  This  is  really  all  there  is  of  it,  monsieur.  Surely  you 
have  all  to  gain,  and  nothing  to  lose/^ 

''  Is  your  sister  good-looking?^' 

^^What  difference  can  it  make  to  you  if  she  is  or  not?'^ 

^^  Answer  my  question/' 

^^  She  is  beautiful;  but  you  may  not  see  her  face.  Do 
you  consent?^' 

^'If  you  are  poor,  how  can  you  give  me  ten  thousand 
francs?'^ 

^^  Ah,  monsieur,  ten  thousand  francs!  What  a  sum  is 
that?     When  I  say  poor,  I  mean  poor  for  a  noble  family.^^ 

^^  Very  well,  then,'^  said  Clinton,  who  had  come  to  a'sud- 
den  resolve  to  see  the  adventure  out,  come  what  might  of 
it.  '^But  how  am  I  to  have  the  use  of  your  services,  and, 
the  same  time,  drop  you  out  of  the  window?'^ 

^^  Oh,"^  said  the  stranger,  gayly,   ''  we  can  postpone  that.^^ 

^^  Two  things,^'  Said  Clinton.  ''I  must  have  something 
to  eat,  and  I  must  have  some  good  clothes.'^ 

^'Everything  is  prepared.  In  the  carriage,  which  will 
be  at  the  door  in  a  minute,  are  all  you  ask  for/^ 

''  How  thoughtful  of  you  r      ' 

^^  This  affair  has  been  carefully  planned.^' 

^^  But  suppose  I  had  insisted  on  throwing  you  out  of  the 
window  ?^^ 

''You  would  not  have  done  it.^^ 

'^  Oh,  but  I  w\as  very  near  it."*^ 

''Well,  then,  this r^ 

The  stranger  threw  aside  his  cloak,  and  showed  a  pistol  in 
his  hand. 

Already  suspecting  that  there  was  more  in  the  adventure 
than  appeared  on  the  surface,  Clinton  now  decided  that  he 
had  entered *on  a  hazardous  enterprise. 

If  the  stranger,  who  knew  all,  was  prepared  with  weapons 
there  must  be  danger. 

Little  difference  did  it  make  to  Clinton,  however.  The 
more  danger,  the  more  excitement.  Anyhow,  he  reasoned, 
he  could  be  no  worse  off  than  he  was. 

The  danger  probably  was  his.  He  would  be  on  the  alert 
to  ward  it  off. 

While  he  was  soliloquizing,  the  stranger  had  taken  the 
lamp,  held  it  in  front  of  the  window  a  few  seconds, 
dropped  it  suddenly  below  the  window,  and  repeated  th^ 
signal  twice. 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  11 

A  few  moments  later  the  noise  of  a  carriage  was  heard 
outside. 

''1  will  return,  with  the  food  and  clothes/'  said  the 
stranger,  departing. 

In  a  short  time  he  was  back,  and  Clinton  was  discussing 
a  hearty  meal,  with  as  much  calmness  as  if  nothing  un- 
usual was  on  hand.  , 

The  clothes  fitted  to  a  nicety. 

^' You  made  a  good  guess,  monsieur/^  said  Clinton,  as  he 
noted  the  fit. 

''  It  was  not  a  guess;  I  had  your  measure.^' 

^^ohr 

^^  Are  you  ready  now?'^ 

''Yes.     Go  down;  I  will  follow  in  a  few  moments.'^ 

The  stranger  went  down. 

Clinton  pulled  aside  the  cloth  from  the  portrait,  gazed  at 
it  earnestly  a  while,  and  then,  dropping  on  his  knee  before 
it,  kissed  it  passionately. 

**  Beautiful  creature!"  he  exclaimed;  *' insensible  image! 
my  happiness!  my  destruction!  to  you  do  I  owe  it  that  1 
have  this  night  sold  myself.  Had  I  not  wasted  weeks 
mooning  over  your  shadow,  I  would  not  now  owe  my  life  to 
a  stranger's  need.  Fool  as  I  am  to  have  let  you  bring  me 
to  this,  so,  fool  will  I  be  to  hold  you  accountable  for  the 
issue  of  this  night's  adventure." 

So  intense  was  the  passion  of  this  singular  utterance,  that 
it  was  hard  to  recognize  in  the  speaker  the  reckless,  sardonic 
artist  of  a  moment  before. 

In  another  second  the  mood  was  changed,  and  with  a 
mocking  laugh,  Clinton  had  tossed  back  the  cloth  over  the 
sweet  face,  blown  out  the  light,  and  dashed  headlong  down 
the  pitchy  dark  staircase. 

''What!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  sprang  lightly  out  into  the 
street;  "only  two  horses  for  a  mystery  like  this!  Why, 
we  ought  to  have  four  at  least,  and  six  would  be  none  too 
many.'' 

*'  Come,  monsieur,  we  have  no  time  to  love.  Will  you 
enter?" 

"  Certainly,  oh,  man  of  mystery.  But  tell  me  first,  is 
the  driver  masked?" 

"He  is.     Why?' 

'•  Why?    Because  in  an  adventure  like  this,  the  least  you 


12  THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS. 

could  do  would  be  to  have  a  masked  coachman.  I  am 
sorry  you  neglected  to  have  four  horses,  though.''' 

'*  You  are  a  strange  man.^^ 

*^  You^re  another.  ^^ 

The  man  laughed  softly. 

They  were  rattling  along  at  a  good  round  pace  by  this 
time. 

In  a  short  while  a  soft  country -road  was  struck;  and,  as 
if  waiting  only  for  that,  the  driver  spoke  to  his  horses,  and, 
like  a  flash,  they  sprang  into  a  furious  pace. 

The  carriage  swayed  and  bounced,  and  the  two  men  in- 
side with  difficulty  kept  their  seats. 

•^If  a  thunder-storm  would  only  come  on  now,"  said 
Clinton,  ''  and  we  should  fall  over  a  cliff  just  as  a  flash  of 
lightning  broke  through  the  black  sky,  how  picturesque  it 
would  be!" 

*^  Perhaps;  but  I  should  enjoy  it  best  if  I  were  out  of  the 
carriage.  You  might  be  accommodated  going  back — at  any 
rate  as  to  the  storm,  for  one  is  coming  up.^' 

''  Maybe  you  will  see  to  it  that  I  am  accommodated  on 
the  way  back.'' 

^^Why  should  I?" 

^a  don't  know." 

Nothing  more  was  said  until,  in  about  an  hour,  a  stop 
was  made,  and  new  horses  were  put  in. 

"Where  are  we?*'  asked  Clinton. 

"Can't  you  tell?" 

"No." 

"I  dont  wan't  you  to.  I'll  blindfold  you  now  if  you 
please." 

Three  times  the  horses  were  changed,  and  Clinton  cal- 
culated that  nearly  fifty  miles  had  been  covered,  and  that 
it  must  be  after  midnight. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   VISION   OF   LOVELINESS. 

A  sudden  stop;  a  shout;  the  creaking  of  an  iron  gate;  the 
crushing  of  stones  under  the  wheels  as  the  carriage  moved 
more  slowly  on. 

'*  We  are  here," 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAKQUIS.  13 

^^  Eemarkable.  I  thought  we  were  there.  May  I  take 
this  bandage  off  my  eyes?"" 

'^  Not  yet/'  interrupted  the  stranger,  hastily. 

The  door  was  opened  and  Clinton  assisted  out  of  the 
carriage. 

Up  a  short  flight  of  marble  steps;  across  a  tessellated 
porch. 

Clinton  counted  the  steps,  counted  the  strides  over  the 
porch. 

Through  a  wide  door-way  into  a  large  hall.  Clinton 
could  tell  that  by  the  echo  of  their  footfalls. 

Up  a  broad  wooden  staircase,  with  massive,  carved 
balustrades. 

Clinton  did  not  fail  to  note  every  possible  particular. 

Two  wide  landings  before  the  upper  hall  was  reached. 

Seven  paces  forward,  ten  to  the  right;  double  doors 
opened;  a  large  room  entered,  and  the  doors  closed. 

^' Stand  here  a  few  moments  and  do  not  remove  the 
bandage.  ^^ 

The  echo  of  the  stranger's  steps  on  the  wooden  floor 
was  followed  by  the  closing  of  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  the 
chamber. 

Scarcely  had  the  door  closed  than  from  the  side  of  the 
chamber  Clinton  could  hear  the  noise  of  another  door 
softly  opened  and  as  softly  closed. 

A  gentle  rustle  of  female  garments,  a  low,  musical,  half 
suppressed  laugh,  and  all  was  still. 

But  Clinton  knew  that  the  owner  of  the  garments,  the 
owner  of  the  laugh,  was  still  in  the  room  and  not  far 
from  him. 

He  knew  it  because  of  a  sweet,  indescribable,  indefinable 
odor  which  floated  toward  him  and  told  him  that  a 
delicately  nurtured  lady  was  near  to  him. 

He  could  have  sworn  she  was  beautiful.  All  sorts  of 
visions  floated  before  him.  He  was  almost  intoxicated 
with  mystery  and  imagination. 

His  first  words,  however,  were  characteristic  of  him,  and 
betrayed  none  of  his  real  feelings. 

^^  My  heart  responds  to  the  magic  charm  of  your  divine 

presence.     Oh,  beautiful   and   mysterious  princess,  may  I 

pluck   from   my  eyes  these  envious  folds  and  gladden  my 

whole  soul  by  the  sight  of  all  that  grace  and  beauty  ?'' 

^^  You  take  too  much  for  granted,  monsieur.     How  know 


14  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

you  I  am  either  princess  or  beautiful  ?^^  came  the  merry 
response  in  a  low,  silvery  tone. 

'^  That  you  are  beautiful  every  throb  of  my  heart  and 
every  sense  but  sight  tells  me.  And  you  ought  to  be  a 
princess,  if  you  are  not.''^ 

At  this  moment  the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  chamber 
opened  quickly  and  an  angry  exclamation  followed. 

The  heavy  footfalls  of  a  man  approached,  and  the  light 
ones  of  the  woman  receded. 

The  two  persons  met,  and  a  whispered  conversation  fol- 
lowed. 

Clinton  strained  his  ears  to  catch  their  words,  but  was 
only  rewarded  by  the  question  and  answer: 

^^  Why  such  a"dress?'^  from  him,  impatiently. 

*'  I  wish  it,^^  from  her,  defiantly. 

^'Come,  my  friends/^  said  Clinton,  finally,  ^^don^t  forget 
that  I  am  an  eager  bridegroom.  May  I  look  upon  that  fairy 
form,  that  heavenly " 

"  Mon  Dieu,  my  friend, ^^  interrupted  the  man,  impa- 
tiently, ^^do  have  done  with  such  folly.  Listen  to  me. 
Have  I  your  promise  to  comply  with  whatever  conditions  we 
impose." 

*'  Yes,"  as  long  as  you  keep  to  your  part  of  the  contract. 
Now  may  I  gaze  as  already  mentioned?" 

*' Yes." 

Waiting  for  no  second  permission,  (ylinton  tore  the  band- 
age from  his  eyes. 

A  murmur  of  admiration  broke  from  his  lips  as  he 
did  so. 

He  stood  at  one  end  of  a  large  saloon,  brilliantly  lighted 
by  scores  of  candles.  The  furniture  was  magnificent,  in  the 
massive,  antique  style.  The  wainscoting  was  of  dark,  time- 
stained  oak,  richly  carved. 

Clinton  knew  he  was  in  the  chateau  of  some  old  and  noble 
family. 

But  these  details  were  noticed  unconsciously.  His  eyes 
were  riveted  at  once  on  the  figure  of  the  female  w^ho  slood 
in  the  middle  of  the  saloon,  looking  toward  him. 

Her  face  was  covered  with  a  white  satin  mask. 

Her  figure  was  draped  in  a  simple  gown  of  creamy,  cling- 
ing Japan  crape. 

Arms  and  neck  were  bare,  and  contrasted  a  glowing  white 
against  the  creamy  stuff  of  the  gown. 


THE  AMEEICAN  MABQUIS.  15 

A  dainty,  black-slippered  foot  peeped  out  from  under  the 
hem  of  the  skirt,  and  the  body  was  slightly  bent  forward, 
like  Aurora  poised  for  flight. 

Such  perfection  of  form,  such  enchanting  grace,  Clinton 
believed  he  had  never  seen  before. 

*'  Well!'^  excUiimed  she,  when,  after  waiting,  Clinton  did 
not  speak.  ^^Has  the  knight  of  the  mysterious  adventure 
lost  that  glib  tongue  of  his?'' 

'"Faith,  no!''  answered  he^  starting  from  his  ecstasy. 
''  ]3ut  my  eyes  were  so  drunk  with  pleasure  as  to  require  all 
my  attention." 

*'  What  a  pretty  compliment !'' 

'^  You  really  are  alive,  are  you?'' 

*'l  hope  so." 

''And  you  are  the  bride?" 

''I  am,  indeed." 

''  Then  come  to  my  arms,  and " 

*'  That's  not  in  the  agreement,"  interrupted  the  man, 
harshly,  and  with  considerable  show  of  impatience.  '*  If 
you  can  restrain  your  folly  long  enough,  monsieur,  we  will 
at  once  proceed  with  the  ceremony.'' 

''  Monsieur,"  said  Clinton,  coolly,  ''  are  there  no  windows 
in  this  chateau  that  you  presume  to  use  that  tone  to  me? 
Your  hand,  mademoiselle.  After  you,  monsieur.  We  are 
ready." 

With  great  outward  calmness,  but  burning  inwardly  with 
excitement,  the  artist  approached  the  lovely  creature,  and 
taking  her  by  the  hand,  placed  it  on  his  arm  with  graceful 
gallantry,  and  waved  the  stranger  onward. 

A  moment  of  hesitation,  and  the  masked  man  led  the 
way  through  the  side  door  into  a  small,  square  chamber; 
through  that  into  a  hall,  and  across  that  into  a  large  octag- 
onal room,  so  dimly  lighted  that  Clinton  could  barely  see 
that  it  was  already  occupied  by  three  persons — all  men,  all 
masked. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE      INTERVIEW. 


'"Please  put  on  this  white  mask." 
Clinton  did  as  requested. 

''Now  let  me  explain  to  you.     I  know  that  you  are  a  man 
of  honor,  and  that  your  promise  will  be  kept." 


16  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^  You  are  right/'  interjected  Clinton,  earnestly.  ^'Go 
on!'' 

The  mayor  thinks  that  we  have  permitted  our  chateau  to 
be  used  by  a  party  of  romantic  Americans  for  the  purpose 
of  celebrating  a  marriage  in  a  novel  way.  For  this  reason 
he  has  consented  to  perform  the  ceremony  in  this  dark 
room,  and  to  whisper  the  names.  When  the  bride's  name 
is  about  to  be  uttered,  you  must  place  your  hand  over  your 
ears." 

^^  And  after  the  ceremony,  what  am  I  to  do?" 

''  Receive  your  money,  and  go  back  as  you  came/' 

''  Not  even  a  word  with  my  wife?" 

^^  i\ot  a  word." 

ii  Very  well,"  assented  Clinton.  And  then,  as  the  man 
left  him  to  go  out  of  the  room,  he  whispered  to  the  woman 
at  his  side:  ''  And  you,  mademoiselle,  will  you  not  grant 
a  short  interview  to  your  husband,  who  is  likely  to  go  mad 
from  too  short  a  glimpse  of  your  divine  beauty?" 

^^  Would  you  really  like  it?"  whispered  she. 

She  was  close  beside  him,  and  as  she  looked  up  and  whis- 
pered, her  breath  fanned  his  face.  She  seemed  to  draw 
nearer  to  him.     Her  hand  touched  his. 

A  shock  ran  through  him.  He  was  hot  and  cold  in  a 
second.  He  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  rain  kisses 
on  the  face  he  knew  must  be  beautiful. 

His  strong  arm  was  about  her  waist,  and  she  was  nestling, 
willingly,  against  him  almost  before  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing. 

''Tell  me  that  I  may  see  you  again,"  he  whispered  in 
her  ear. 

''You  may,"  she  answered.  "Leave  it  to  me.  Hush! 
he  is  returning." 

She  drew  herself  away,  letting  her  hand  fall  for  a  moment 
in  his  as  she  did  so. 

The  three  men  had  not  observed  them. 

But  Clinton  Hastings?  Was  he  in  love  with  this  masked 
woman?    Had  he  forgotten  the  face  in  his  studio? 

In  love?  Yes — madly,  fiercely  in  lov(.  Forgotten  the 
face?    No. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  his  soul  was  in  a  terrible  conflict 
with  the  two  strange  loves. 

The  face  of  a  woman  seen  but  once — the  form  of  a  woman 
whose  face  he  had  never  seen. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  17 

The  woman  who  was  nothing  to  him — lost.  The  woman 
who  was  to  be  his  wife — lost. 

Was  he  really  crazy?  Was  he  bewitched?  Where  was 
that  reckless  coolness  of  his?    Where  that  mocking  spirit? 

Gone — all  gone. 

He  would  have  given  his  very  life  that  moment  only  to 
have  held  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

Tlie  ceremony  was  gone  through  with  by  him  mechan- 
ically. 

He  did  as  he  had  promised,  and  closed  his  ears  to  her 
name.  Name!  What  cared  he  for  that?  It  was  herself 
he  wanted. 

She  was  his  wife! 

The  mayor  was  gone,  and  he  once  more  stood  with  his 
wife  and  her  brothers. 

•^Monsieur/'  said  the  stranger,  who  had  hitherto  done  all 
the  negotiating,  ^^my  brothers  will  conduct  you  to  the 
carriage,  give  you  the  money  as  promised,  and  see  you  to 
your  home.'^ 

'^One  momenta 

It  was  his  wife  who  spoke.  Qlinton  listened  eagerly, 
drinking  in  the  sweet  tones  of  her  voice^  hanging  on  her 
every  word. 

It  was  his  life  that  hung  in  the  balance. 

'^  Come  aside;  I  wish  to  say  something.^' 

They  spoke  in  low  tones,  but  Clinton  heard  every  word. 
It  seemed  to  him  he  could  have  fathomed  their  very 
thoughts,  so  intent  was  he. 

''  You  must  give  me  ten  minutes  alone  with  him.^^ 

'^  With  whom?" 

"My  husband.'' 

"Are  you  mad?" 

"No,  but  determined.'' 

^^It  cannot  be." 

"It  must  be." 

"Why?" 

"I  wish  it." 

"  Bah!    A  woman's  reason." 

"Be  it  so;  but  don't  cross  me." 

"  I  must,  for  your  own  sake  and  my  own.     You  will  ruin 

US." 

"  In  ten  minutes?" 

"  In  one  minute.     A  love-mad  woman  needs  no  lono^er." 


18  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^  This  is  folly.  I  shall  go  with  him  to  the  small  square 
chamber.     Prevent  it  if  you  can/^ 

''I  can/' 

^^Do  so,  then/' 

''Corner^  she  said,  speaking  aloud  to  Clinton.  '^  Come 
with  me.     I  will  give  you  ten  minutes.^' 

"  Stop!^'  exclaimed  the  man,  hoarse  with  passion.  ^^Ee- 
member  your  promise  to  go  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  was 
over.^' 

^'Oh,  Heaven!'^  murmured  Clinton,  in  agony;  for,  great 
as  was  his  infatuation,  he  would  not  break  his  promise.  ''  I 
did  promise, ^^  he  said,  brokenly. 

^*  Ahal'^  laughed  the  man.     ^^  Did  I  not  know  him?^' 

^^  Ay,"*^  said  the  woman,  tossing  her  head  proudly,  '^  and 
I  honor  him  the  more  now  that  I,  too,  know  him.  But 
you  do  not  know  me  if  you  think  to  outwit  me  so.  If  you 
do  not  let  him  go  with  me,  I  will  go  with  him.  Will  you 
take  me,  monsieur  ?^^ 

^^Willl?^^ 

^^  You  see,^^  she  said,  triumphantly,  to  her  brother. 

^^  I  see  that  I  may  have  to  use  force  to  make  him  go 
without  you.^^ 

^^Dare  to  touch  him,  and  I  speak  my  name!^^ 

'^  You  would  not  dare. '^ 

^^Urge  me  not  too  far,  or  you  will  know  what  I  dare.^^ 

^*  Woman!  woman!''  he  whispered,  fiercely,  approaching 
her,  '^  will  you  let  your  mad  spirit  spoil  in  a  moment  our 
careful  plans  of  a  year.  ^^ 

^^  I  tell  you  I  will  spoil  nothing.  Ten  minutes!  How 
could  I  even  if  I  wished.  Have  I  not  as  much  at  stake  as 
you?  What  is  it  to  be?  Come,  quickly.  Shall  I  speak  my 
name?" 

''In  Heaven's  name,  go.     Only  ten  minutes,  mind.'^ 

''  Come,  my  husband,''  said  she,  turning  with  bewitch- 
ing grace  toward  Clinton,  and  holding  out  her  hand. 

No  sooner  were  they  out  of  the  room  than  the  four  men 
came  hurriedly  together  and  talked  earnestly  in  whispers. 

^^Now  what?"  asked  the  new  wife,  saucily,  as  she  and 
Clinton  stood  alone  in  the  square  chamber. 

''  Mon  DieuF'  cried  Clinton,  wildly  grasping  her  two 
white  hands  in  his.  ^^Must  I  try  to  say  all  that  is  in  my 
heart  in  ten  minutes? 

''  Can  you  not  see  that   I  am  mad  with  love — that  I  will 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  19 

die  without  you?  Can  you  not  pity  me?  Tell  me  that  we 
may  meet  again.  I  will  search  the  world  on  my  knees  to 
find  you. 

^^One  look  at  your  face,  only  for  a  second.  Pity  me! 
Pity  your  slave. ^^ 

"Clinton/'  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  low  and  tender, 
"'I,  too,  have  made  a  promise.  I  may  not  show  you  my 
face;  I  may  not  give  you  a  clew  to  my  personality;  but 
this  much  hope  I  will  give  you. 

•^  Take  this  ring.  Search  for  me  if  you  will.  If  you 
ever  come  to  me  and  holding  this  ring  up,  say:  ^By  this 
ring  I  claim  you  for  my  wife,'  I  swear  to  you  that  I  will 
follow  you,  though  it  be  to  death." 

'^Now  take  oft*  your  mask,  and  let  me  blindfold  you." 

The  infatuated  artist  kissed  the  precious  ring,  kissed 
again  and  again  the  soft  hands  as  they  bound  his  eyes,  and 
then  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"■  Will  you  promise  not  to  move  a  step  or  speak  a  word  if 
I  give  you  something  I  know  you  covet,  and  tell  you  some- 
thing I  know  you  long  to  hear."" 

^*  By  my  love  for  you  I  promise  it.'' 

''  Well,  then,"  the  little  hands  clasped  his  tenderly,  "  I 
love  you  V 

A  cry  burst  from  Clinton's  lips. 

'*Ah!  that  was  wrong.  Now,"  she  stood  on  tiptoe, 
placed  her  hands  on  his  two  shoulders,  and  pressed  her  lips 
to  his. 

For  one  whole  minute  they  stood  thus,  his  arms  wound 
about  her  pliant  figure,  her  dainty  hands  upon  his  shoulders, 
their  lips  drinking  deep  from  the  fountain  of  love. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  ASSASSINATIOK. 

^^  Where  are  you,  my  darling?" 

Clinton  had  awakened  from  his  ecstatic  dream  of  love. 

His  wife  had  slipped  from  his  arms  and  sped  away.  She 
w^as  saying  to  her  brother  in  the  other  room: 

^*  Now  you  may  have  my  husband.  Treat  him  well  for 
my  sake." 

Clinton  listening  for  the  slightest  sound  heard  the  voice 


20  THE  AIVIERICAN  MAEQUIS. 

but  could  distinguish  no  words.  The  answer  of  the  brother 
was  more  distinct. 

"Very  well,  Madame  Hastings,  we'll  deal  with  him  very 
tenderly/^ 

Her  musical  laugh  mingled  with  the  harsher  tones  of  the 
four  men,  who  seemed  to  see  a  joke  in  the  speech. 

*^Have  you  a  pillow  for  him,  so  he  will  sleep  well,'^  he 
could  now  hear  h^r  say,  as  she  apparently  followed  the  men 
in  the  hall. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  pillow  is  provided/'  was  the  answer,  accom- 
panied by  another  laugh,  subdued  this  time. 

Clinton  paid  no  heed  to  the  words  then,  or  to  the  laugh. 
He  was  conscious  only  that  the  woman  he  so  strangely  loved 
was  speaking — speaking  of  him. 

He  remembered  the  words  afterward. 

The  man  who  had  brought  him  entered  the  room  and  ad- 
dressed him. 

"  Are  you  ready  now?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

''I  leave  you  now.  My  brothers  will  accompany  you  on 
the  journey  home.^' 

^^Very  well." 

"  You  do  not  ask  for  your  money?" 

''I  do  not  want  it." 

"  What?" 

"  I  do  not  want  the  money." 

"Do  not  want  it;  and  why,  monsieur?" 

'^  Because  it  is  the  woman — my  wife — I  now  want.'^ 

"  You  cannot  have  her,  so  you  might  as  well  take  the 
money.'' 

"  I  will  not  have  the  monev.  •  I  will  some  day  have  my 
wife.'' 

The  man  laughed. 

"  Have  your  will,"  he  said.  "  But  at  least  my  part  shall 
be  faithfully  performed.  You  will  be  given  the  money  out- 
side.    Throw  it  away  if  you  will  then." 

"  I  will  throw  it  away." 

"  Come,"  said  a  voice  new  to  Clinton — not  the  voice  of  a 
gentleman.     It  was  too  rough." 

Clinton  was  loth  to  go,  but  made  no  manifestation  of  any 
such  feeling.     He  had  promised. 

Down  the  stairs  again  and  out  at  the  same  door  he  had 
entered.  Clinton  counted  his  way  out  as  carefully  as  he  had 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  21 

his  way  in.  He  would  need  such  a  verification^  perhaps, 
some  day/^ 

Not  into  the  carriage  did  he  go,  however.  He  was  led 
along  the  carriage  path,  then  into  a  narrower  path,  and 
through  other  paths  for  a  long  distance. 

The  storm  the  stranger  had  predicted  had  come  up,  and 
Clinton  could  not  only  hear  the  crashing  thunder  and  feel 
the  heavy  rain-drops,  but  could  almost  see  the  vivid  light- 
ning through  the  folds  of  cloth  over  his  eyes. 

He  was  already  much  wet  when  the  man  who  was  guid- 
ing him  suddenly  swerved  to  one  side  and  pulled  him  into 
what  seemed  a  sort  of  arbor. 

Clinton  could  hear  the  pouring  rain  on  the  roof  overhead, 
and  could  feel  earth  under  his  feet. 

^'  Wait  here  a  few  minutes, ^^  said  the  man,  gruffly,  leav- 
ing Clinton  alone. 

"^  Tm  to  receive  the  money  here,^'  thought  Clinton. 

A  faint  noise  behind  him  caused  him  to  say: 

''  Bringing  me  the  money  ?^' 

'^  No,^'  came  the  gruff  answer.  ''  It's  the  pillow  your  wife 
sends  you.^^ 

^^  Ah!^'  murmured  the  artist,  tenderly.  "Give  it  to  me;  I 
will  carry  it.^^ 

'^  Take  it." 

A  dull,  sickening  thud  followed,  and  the  blindfolded  man 
fell  in  a  heap  to  the  earth. 

Up  again  he  scrambled,  tearing  the  bandage  from  his 
eyes. 

Half  stunned,  but  desperate;  mad  with  rage  and  a  sense 
of  the  black  treachery  practiced  upon  him,  Clinton  grappled 
with  the  man. 

A  low  call  brought  his  two  fellows,  and  a  silent,  terrible 
death-struggle  took  place  between  the  four  men.  Three 
against  one. 


The  next  night  a  man  crept  up  to  the  door  of  the  lonely 
house  in  Morlaix. 

Painfully  he  ascended  the  creaking  stairs,  staggered  into 
the  studio,  and  fell  headlong  on  the  floor,  clutching  at  the 
cloth  which  hung  over  the  sweet,  smiling  face. 

The  painting  was  uncovered. 


22  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

The  moon  shone  through  the  window  and  fell  upon  the 
portrait. 

The  red  lips  were  curved  in  a  mocking  smile,  the  blue 
eyes  danced  with  mirth. 

The  blood-stained  face  of  the  man,  stern  and  set,  looked 
up,  grim,  ghastly. 

A  black  pall  fell  over  the  face  of  the  moon. 

The  lonely  house  was  still. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   GARDEKER's  ASSISTANT. 

Two  years  later. 

The  soft,  warm  sunshine  of  early  spring  glanced  gayly 
back  from  the  upper  windows  of  the  Chateau  dTberri.  The 
•  buds  were  joyously  opening,  and  the  gladsome  song  of  the 
birds  filled  the  air. 

A  sturdy  young  peasant,  clad  in  the  picturesque  garb 
of  the  Breton,  walked  briskly  toward  the  gates  of  tlie 
chateau. 

Over  his  shoulder,  on  the  end  of  a  stout  stick,  was  a 
bundle  of  clothing. 

There  was  no  hesitation  in  the  man^s  air  as  he  walked  up 
to  the  gates  and  rapped  vigorously  on  them. 

^^  Good-day  to  you.  Father  rierre,^*  he  said,  with  liis 
rough  Breton  accent,  as  a  decrepit  old  man  opened  a  small 
side-door  and  looked  curiously  at  the  new-comer. 

''  Good-day  to  you,  lad,  whoever  you  are.  I  see  you  are 
a  Breton,  or  I'd  ask  for  your  manners  in  rapping  like  that — 
on  the  main  gates,  tooP 

^^N^ay,  there,  now.  Father  Pierre!  See  how  lucky  I  am 
in  coming  here,  where  I  can  be  polished  up.^^ 

^*  What  mean  you  by  that?^^ 

'^  Only  what  you  will  learn  better  than  I  can  explain,  if 
you  will  run  your  old  eyes  over  this  letter. ^^ 

^^Oh/^  exclaimed  the  old  man,  querulously,  when  he  had 
read  the  letter.     ^^  So  you  are  come  to  take  my  place?" 

^^  Nay,  now.  Father  Pierre;  I  did  not  so  understand  it. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  to  assist  you.  The  notary  said 
you  had  been  a  faithful  servant  so  long  that  you  deserved 
more  ease  in  your  old  age,  so  I  am  sent  to  help  you — and 
that  is  all.^^ 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  23 

Somewhat  pacified,  the  old  man  led  the  way  into  his 
little  lodge,  and  set  about  finding  quarters  for  the  young 
man,  who  gave  his  name  as  Jacques  Bronne. 

And  so  easily  satisfied  was  Jacques,  and  so  respectful 
withal,  that  Pierre  became  quickly  reconciled  to  him. 

Indeed,  when  he  reflected  that  he  could  now  go  to  the 
village  whenever  he  liked,  his  gratification  was  extreme.  He 
lost  no  time  in  testing  his  opportunities. 

^•^  Jacques/^  said  he,  ^^  I  have  important  business  at  the 
village,  and  I  will  start  early,  for  I'm  not  as  supple  as  I 
once  was.'' 

^'  Quite  right.  Father  Pierre.  I  will  keep  good  guard 
here.  If  anybody  tries  to  run  away  with  the  chateau  while 
you  are  gone,  I'll  stop  him  with  this  club,  which  looks  as  if 
it  had  already  done  good  service." 

^^  Nay,  Jacques,"  interposed  the  old  man,  hastily.  ''  Never 
touch  that — it  has  blood  on  it." 

''  Cieir  Father  Pierre,  how  comes  that^" 

*^' I  like  not  to  talk  of  it,  Jacques.  I  know  little,  any- 
how. Let  it  suffice  for  thee  that  I  found  it  just  as  thou 
seest  it." 

^^  Ah,  good  Father  Pierre,  it  is  some  fearful  mystery;  I 
can  see  that;  and  you  refuse  to  tell  it  to  me.  Ah,  you  do 
not  know  how  curious  I  am,  and  how  I  do  love  a  mystery, 
or  you  would  surely  tell  me." 

^^  Nay,  nay;  I  will  not — at  least  not  now.    I  must  be  off!" 

"Ah,  well,"  sighed  Jacques;  '^1  shall  sit  here  all  day, 
never  stirring,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  that  terrible  club.  It 
fascinates  me." 

"A  pretty  way  that  to  serve  your  employers,"  cried  the 
old  man,  angrily.  "  Now,  I  tell  thee  plainly,  thou  shalt 
never  hear  a  word  of  the  story — and  it's  a  rare  bloody  one — 
if  thou  dust  not  bestir  thyself  to-day.  There's  the  chateau 
needs  an  airing  badly.  Here  are  the  keys.  It's  work  or  no 
story,  young  lazybones." 

^' Bien,  Father  Pierrel  If  it  s  that,  the  work  shall  not 
be  neglected.     I  shall  have  the  story  to-night,  then,  eli?'' 

"  Ay,  ay.  Very  well,  very  well,  we  shall  see,"  said  the 
oldman,  good-humoredly,  as  if  talking  to  a  spoiled  child, 
''lou'll  find  plenty  to  eat  in  the  cupboard." 

Jacques  watched  the  old  man  out  of  sight,  then  re-entered 
the  gate  and  secured  it  firmly. 

The  half -stupid^  half -joyous  look  of  his  class  faded  from 


2i  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

his  face,  and  gave  way  to  a  stern,  somber  expression.  He 
took  up  the  keys  which  the  oki  man  had  pointed  out,  and 
then  stood  a  moment  looking  at  the  club. 

^^Ay,'Mie  muttered,  gloomily;  ^^your  story  is  a  rare 
bloody  one,  I  doubt  not;  but  your  turn  shall  come  to-night. 
Now,  to  learn  what  story  the  chateau  can  tell.^' 

There  was  an  icy  grimness  in  his  manner  as  he  walked 
along  the  carriage-drive  toward  the  chateau.  He  looked 
neither  to  one  side  nor  the  other,  his  eyes  were  on  the 
chateau. 

He  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  marble  stair- way  which  led 
from  the  drive- way  to  the  porch. 

What  is  he  doing? 

He  shuts  his  eyes,  and  proceeds  to  go  up  the  steps.  What 
is  he  muttering? 

^'  One — two — three — four — five.  The  same.  But  wait. 
One — two — three — four — five — six — seven.  Aha!  the  door. 
But  wait,  wait.  There  may  be  fifty  such.  Everything  must 
correspond.     Step  by  step.     No  jumping  to  conclusions." 

The  proper  key  was  found,  and  the  great  door  was  thrown 
wide  open. 

Once  more  closing  his  eyes,  Jacques  walked  with  the 
same  measured  step  to  the  staircase,  counting,  as  he  went. 

^^  Again  the  same,"  he  muttered,  as  his  foot  struck  the 
lower  step.  ''  Mon  Dieu!  I  seem  to  recognize  even  the  very 
echo.     But  wait,  still  wait." 

He  ascended  the  stairs,  curiously  feeling  of  the  balustrade 
as  he  went. 

.-.  *^I  could  swear  to  this  carving.  Ah!  First  landing. 
Right.  Four  more — second  landing.  Now  four  again. 
The  top.  Now  seven.  So.  Half  turn  to  right.  Ten.  Ah! 
the  door." 

^^  Now  stop.'' 

Jacques  opened  his  eyes,  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  closed  double  doors. 

''  Let  me  wait  a  moment.     I  cannot  go  in  yet." 

^^  What!  am  I  weak?  Bah!  out  upon  me.  Where  is  the 
key?     So." 

^'Open  now.  And,  Chateau  dTberri,  give  up  your 
secrets." 

With  this  strange  apostrophe  Jacques  pushed  open  the 
doors,  and  looked  in  upon  a  large  and  lofty  saloon.  The 
furniture  was  worn  but  magnificent 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS.  25 

At  the  rig.ht  hand  was  a  door.  On  the  same  side  near 
the  other  end  of  the  saloon  was  another  door.  Opposite 
where  he  stood  was  a  doable  door  opening  into  the  other 
end  of  the  saloon. 

Coldly  Jacques  noted  all  these  details. 

''It  is  the  same.'" 

Stepping  forward  a  few  paces,  he  stood  still  and  again 
looked  around. 

''Ay!  I  were  a  fool  to  doubt  it.  Nevertheless  I  will  go 
on  to  the  end.'^ 

He  opened  the  door  at  his  right  and  walked  into  a  small, 
square  chamber. 

A  half-stifled  groan,  as  if  it  had  but  barely  escaped  the 
iron  grasp  of  his  stern  soul,  broke  from  his  lips  as  he  en- 
tered this  apartment. 

He  scarcely  looked  about  him,  and  almost  quickened 
that  measured  paoe  of  his  as  he  passed  through  it  into  a 

Across  the  hall  he  went,  and,  opening  a  door,  entered  a 
large  room  of  octagonal  shape. 

"  Yes,  every  detail  coincides,  and  had  I  not  already  been 
sure,  my  doubts  must  now  have  fled. 

"There  I  stood,  there  she.  He  there,  they  there.  lean 
see  it  as  plainly  now  as  then.  I  hear  the  voices,  subdued 
and  low. 

"Oh,  Heaven!  I  cannot  go  through  that  night  again. 
Let  me  hence. 

"Not  so.     I   must   stay.     I   must  rehearse  that  scene. 
Not  once,  but  again  and  again,  until   this,  the  last  of  all,  > 
shall  fall   like   all  things  else   on  my  flinty  heart  without"  ^ 
calling  out  one  single  spark  of  human  emotion. 

"Yes,  there  I,  there  she,  there  he.  There,  there,  there. 
Now  the  words.     So. 

''Now  to  the  square  chamber." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   OATH    IN   THE   SQUARE   CHAMBER. 

A  hard  light  glistened  in  the  gray  eyes  of  the  gardener's 
assistant  as  he  w^alked  into  the  square  chamber. 

But  as  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  it  was  evident 


2S  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

that  an  awful  struggle  for  composure  was  going  on  beneath 
the  fixed  lines  of  that  stern  face. 

The  broad  chest  heaved  with  convulsive  irregularity,  and 
the  nervous  hands  were  clinched  in  death-like  fixity. 

A  groan  at  last  broke  from  his  lips,  white  from  the  close 
compression. 

^^Ay!^^  he  muttered,  *^ struggle,  man — struggle,  devil! 
Devil  have  it! 

''  It  was  here — this  the  very  spot — that  I  stood  and  held 
her  soft  white  hands  in  mine.  Crazy  with  the  intoxicating 
love  that  filled  my  soul,  I  could  have  laid  down  my  life  for 
her  with  joy.  Ay!  only  sorry  that  I  had  not  fifty  lives  to 
give  for  as  many  minutes  of  the  bliss  of  her  presence.  She 
said  she  loved  me." 

A  faint  cry  as  if  he  were  strangling  broke  from  him. 

*'  At  that  my  heart  well-nigh  burst  with  the  happiness  it 
could  not  hold.  '^Ay!  and  ay!  Every  word  of  it  will  I 
recall.  Every  word,  though  each  one  sears  my  heart  as 
with  fire.^' 

The  gray  eyes  blazed  with  fury,  and  the  lips  trembled  in 
agonized  writhing. 

^'  'Hove  you,^  she  said.  ^ I  love  you.^  Oh!  the  music  of 
the  words. 

'^  Here,  right  here,  I  stood.  She  there.  Her  hands  on 
my  two  shoulders.     Oh,  Heaven! 

*^  Her  bosom  pressed  to  mine,  her  breath  rising  to  my  face 
like  incense  to  a  deity. 

'"'And  then  in  a  delirium  of  love  that  whirled  my  whole 
being  into  Paradise,  I  felt  her  lips  against  mine. 

''Here,  right  here,  she  said  it.     'I  love  you/ 

"  Here,  right  here,  she  pressed  her  lips  to  mine. 

"Ay,  let  me  repeat  the  words:  'I  love  you.  I  love 
you.' 

"Let  me  remember  that  kiss!  Let  me  not  forget  how  I 
loved  her  then. 

"Ah!  woman,  woman!  Better  for  you  had  your  tongue 
rotted  off  at  its  roots  ere  those  words  were  spoken,  better 
that  vitriol  had  eaten  those  lips  ere  they  pressed  mine  in 
warm  embrace. ^^ 

A  sudden  freezing  calm  succeeded  this  wild  and  furious 
tirade.  •-' 

Rising  to  his  full  height  and  lifting  aloft  his  right  arm  in 
solemn  grandeur,  he  slowly  spoke: 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  27 

''  By  all  the  hate  of  man,  by  all  the  false  love  of  woman, 
by  every  lying  word,  by  every  wicked  practice,  by  that 
heavenly  face  and  fiendish  heart,  I  swear  that  no  pity  will 
I  have,  no  rest  will  I  take,  no  other  motive  shall  sway  me, 
in  my  pursuit  of  vengeance. 

*' Sure  shall  be  thy  detection,  slow  shall  be  thy  torture, 
lingering  thy  life,  horrible  thy  death. 

''As  thou  hast  made  me,  so  will  I  be.'" 

The  head  drooped,  the  uplifted  arm  fell,  and  slowly, 
almost  feebly,  the  man  walked  from  the  chamber  and  made 
his  way  out  of  the  chateau. 

He  leaned  against  a  tree  for  several  minutes,  his  hand  over 
his  eyes. 

Slowly  the  color  came  back  to  his  set,  white  face,  gradu- 
ally the  robust  form  straightened. 

"  The  last  human  emotion  is  dead,""  he  whispered. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   STORY  OF  THE   CLUB. 

^^So,  Jacques,  thou  wilt  have  the  story  of  the  club,  eh?'" 

Thus  spake  old  Pierre  that  night  as  the  two  men  sat  in 
the  little  lodge. 

''  Why,  yes.  Father  Pierre.  To  speak  the  truth,  there 
was  that  in  your  tone  this  morning  that  curdled  my  blood 
whenever  I  did  but  think  of  it.  I  doubt  not.  Father 
Pierre,  you  have  the  trick  of  story-telling  to  a  marvel;  for  I 
notice  you  don"t  forget  the  little  things.  Now  Hove  all  the 
small  parts  of  a  story,  the  whys,  nows,  whereases,  and  you- 
should-knows.'" 

"  Dost  thou,  lad?  dost  thou?  Well,  now,  who  knows  but 
it  may  be  as  you  say,'"  answered  the  old  man,  pleased  with 
the  flattery.  *' Though,  truth  to  tell,  there's  little  of  this 
story.  Now  I  could  tell  thee  of  the  ghosts  of  Iberri,  and  1 
warrant  thy  blood  would  indeed  run  cold.'" 

''  Nay,  Father  Pierre,"'  said  the  young  man,  hastily,  ^^  the 
club  is  in  my  head,  and  must  be  conjured  out  with  thy 
story.'" 

'"'  'Tis  as  well  it's  not  on  thy  head,  Jacques,'"  chuckled 
Pierre,  ^'or  mayhap  thou  wouldst  be  more  uneasy."' 

'^Ha!  ha!  Good!  good !'"  laughed  Jacques.  ^'^ But  now 
to  the  story.  Father  Pierre."' 


28 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 


^^  Well,  thou  must  know  that  ever  since  the  last  Marquis 
d'Iberri,  died,  and  the  estate,  without  the  title,  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  wealthy  relative,  who  cared  naught  for  the 
chateau,  it  has  been  my  custom — with  permission,  you  un- 
derstand— to  let  strangers  come  here  and  spend  a  few 
hours. 

^'They  were  foreigners,  mostly,  who  came.  Americans 
more  than  others,  for  they  do  say  they  have  only  tents  and 


''so,  JACQUES,  THOU   WILT  HAVE    THE   STORY   OF  THE 
CLUB,    EH?'' 

mud  houses  in  their  country,  and  of  course  it  pleased  them 
to  see  so  grand  a  place. 

"  I  think  it  was  two  years  ago  last  fall  that  a  man  came 
here  and  asked  if  he  might  have  the  chateau  for  the  night 
some  time.  He  wanted  to  have  some  joke  with  a  friend,'' 
he  said. 

''  Was  he  an  American?"  asked  Jacques. 

''American?  No.  He  spoke  French  as  well  as  thou  or 
I.     Why  shouldst  thou  ask  that?" 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  29 

^^Why,  you  had  just  spoken  of  Americans/^ 

^'Hadl?  Well,  don't  interrupt  me,  or  how  can  I  tell 
my  story  right.  It  was  not  the  usual  way  of  doing,  but 
he  gave  me  a  twenty-franc  piece,  so  what  could  I  do  but  say 
yes? 

^*  Well,  on  the  night  he  set  he  had  the  old  chateau  light- 
ed up,  particularly  the  great  saloon,  and  it  did  make  me 
think  of  the  old  times  to  see  it  so. 

'•'  I  don't  know  what  they  did,  Vm  sure.  I  only  know 
they  left  about  three  o'clock*^  in  the  morning,  and  1  would 
never  have  thought  of  it  again  but  for  what  happened  the 
next  day.'' 

^^Ay?    What  was  that  r 

^^  Why,  I  was  walking  about  the  grounds  and  something 
led  me  to  an  old  arbor  to  the  east  of  the  chateau.  You 
may  have  noticed  it.     There  I  saw — what  dost  thou  think  ?'^ 

''  You  make  me  shiver.  Father  Pierre.     Go  on.'' 

'^  Two  dead  bodies.'^ 

^^Twor 

'^Ay,  two.'' 

"And  then,  what  didst  thou?" 

"What  should  I  do?  I  reported  it  to  Monsieur  the 
Mayor.  He  turned  as  pale  as  thou  art  now,  and  nearly  fell 
from  his  chair.  And  no  wonder,  for  it  was  a  frightful 
thing. 

"  There  was  the  inquest,  and  I  was  a  witness  and  told  how 
the  man  had  used  the  chateau  for  the  night. 

"Then  they  thought  he  and  his  friend  had  had  a  falling 
out  and  killed  each  other;  but  I  said  nay  to  that,  for  neither 
of  the  men  was  he  who  had  seen  me.  And  besides,  that 
man  must  have  gone  away  in  the  carriage. 

"  The  jury  then  decided  that  the  two  men  were  enemies 
and  had  gone  there  to  fight  it  out,  and  had  killed  each 
other. 

"  But  the  question  was,  how  had  they  killed  each  other, 
for  though  they  had  pistols,  they  were  not  discharged. 

"Both  men  were  terribly  battered,  though;  so  it  was  evi- 
dent that  they  must  have  had  some  weapons  like  a  club. 

"  However,  nothing  more  was  thought  of  the  matter  un- 
til I  found  this  club  just  under  the  wall,  .near  the  gate,  about 
two  weeks  later. 

"Then  I  was  sure  it  was  what  the  men  had  fought  with; 
but  the  mayor  sa;id  it  was  folly,  because  two  men  could  not 


30  THE  AMEKICAN  MAEQUIS. 

kill  each  other  with  one  club.     And  so  on  his  advice  I  said 
nothing  about  it,  and  just  kept  the  club  here." 

"  And  you  never  learned  anything  more  about  the  mat- 
ter. " 

"  Not  a  word.'' 

''  Do  you  know  what  the  name  of  the  man  was  who  used 
the  chateau  T' 

"  Of  course  not.     Why  should  I  ask  his  name?" 

"  And  no  clew  to  the  mystery  was  ever  found?'' 

"  What  mystery?" 

''  How  the  two  men  were  killed." 

"  Where  was  the  mysterv  of  that?  They  killed  each  other, 
didn't  they?" 

^'Ah,  yes;  I  forgot  that.     You  don't  remember,  I  sup- 
pose, how  the  man  looked?" 

^MVhich  one?" 

^^  The  one  who  used  the  chateau." 

/^Of  course  not.     Dost  thou  think  I  burden  my  mind 
with  every  face  I  see?" 

^'Driveling  old   dotard!"  muttered  Jacques,  under  his 
breath. 

^'What's  that?" 

^^  Did  you  say  there  was  a  lady  in  the  party  that  night?" 

^'  Jacques,  lad,  4;hy  wits  are  wandering.     I  never  said  the 
word  lady  or  woman  this  night." 

"  Let  me  handle  the  club,"  said  Jacques,  getting  up  and 
reaching  for  the  gory  piece  of  wood. 

^*  Ha!"  he  muttered,  ^Mettering  on  it!" 

^MVhat  is  that?" 

"1  said  it  was  an  ugly  club.     There,  I'll  touch  it  no 
more." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  MARRIAGE   REGISTER. 

The  next  day  Father  Pierre  discovered  two  things,  and 
was  both  surprised  and  indignant  at  the  discoveries. 

Jacques,  his  new  assistant,  was  gone,  and  the  bloody  club 
was  also  gone. 

At  about  the  same  time  that  Father  Pierre  was  using  bad 
language  in  his  little  lodge,  a  stranger  was  being  installed 
in  a  room  in  the  hotel,  in  the  sleepy  little  town  of  Iberri. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAKQUIS.  31 

He  was  a  tall,  dignified  old  gentleman  with  heavy  snow- 
white  mustache  and  imperial. 

His  first  care  on  dismissing  the  obsequious  landlord  was 
to  lock  the  door,  and  to  make  sure  that  he  could  in  no  way 
be  suddenly  intruded  upon. 

Then  he  unbuckled  what  seemed  to  be  a  roll  of  music  in 
a  leather  case,  and  took  out  what  might  have  been  a  musical 
instrument,  'but  was  nob. 

It  was  a  heavy,  blood-stained  club,  bearing  a  marvelous 
resemblance  to  one  Father  Pierre  had  lost  and  was  even  at 
that  time  looking  for. 

''  Now  to  see  what  these  letters  can  teach  me,^^  muttered 
the  gentleman,  closely  examining  the  club. 

"  T-e-t-e-d-e  Fer.     Tete  de  Fer.     Iron-head.'' 

Round  and  round  he  turned  the  club,  closely  scrutinizing 
it  in  hope  of  finding  something  more,  but  in  vain. 

'^  Iron-head,"  he  repeated  over  and  over  again.  ^'Per- 
haps the  nickname  of  the  ruffian,  perhaps  only  a  fanciful 
liame  for  this  breaker  of  human  heads  less  hard  than  iron. 
I  do  not  see  its  value  yet,  but  patience.  I  have  made  a  good 
beginning.'* 

No  smile  of  satisfaction  lighted  up  the  old  gentleman's 
stern  face  at  this  thought.  His  features  were  as  calm  as 
those  of  a  mask. 

^^  Well,  you  may  wait,  old  acquaintance,"  he  said,  as  he. 
returned  the  club  to  its  case.  "  I  will  now  call  on  Monsieur 
the  Mayor,  and  have  a  look  at  the  marriage  register." 

Carefully  putting  the  club  in  his  large  valise,  the  old  gen- 
tleman went  down  stairs  and  asked  for  the  landlord. 

Such  distinguished  looking  gentlemen  as  Monsieur  Henri 
Roche — that  was  the  name  signed  to  the  register— so  seldom 
stopped  at  Iberri,  that  the  landlord  hastily  abandoned  his 
breakfast  in  answer  to  the  summons. 

'^Monsieur  will  have  breakfast,  is  it  not?" 
''  Why  yes,  landlord,  that  is,  with  two  promises.     First, 
to  have  it  quickly;  second,  to  have  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux 
with  it." 

*^As  you  say,  monsieur.  Hold,  Jean — fetch  a  bot- 
tle  " 

''  Stop,  monsieur  landlord;  I  want  good  wine,  and  I  know 
of  but  one  way  to  be  sure  of  having  it. 

''How  is  that,  monsieur?" 


32  THE  AI^IEEICAN  MAKQUIS. 

'^  By  insisting  that  you  shall  share  the  bottle  with  me. 
Now  order/^ 

^' Ah,  monsieur/^  exclaimed  the  delighted  landlord,  grin- 
ning to  his  ears.  ^^I  shall  not  order  now;  I  shall  fetch  it 
myself/^ 

Seated  over  the  wine,  the  worthy  host  was  led,  with  great 
skill,  to  discuss  the  affairs  of  the  town.  . 

And  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  told  Monsieur  Eoche 
that  the  Mayor  of  Iberri  was  a  most  worthy  gentleman  who 
had  creditably  filled  his  present  post  for  nearly  four  years. 

After  that  Monsieur  Eoche  lost  interest  in  his  breakfast, 
and  shortly  arose  to  stroll  about  the  town. 

Pie  found  his  way  to  the  city  hall,  inquired  if  the  mayor 
was  in,  and  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  sent  in  his 
card. 

The  mayor  was  at  his  desk,  hard  at  work,  and  did  not 
look  up  when  his  visitor  entered.  The  mayor,  be  it  under- 
stood, was  too  important  a  personage  to  stop  work  for  any- 
body. 

The  visitor  studied  the  mayor.  He  saw  a  man  of  forty 
or  fifty,  small,  active,  important,  avaricious,  overbearing. 

The  mayor  continued  to  write,  wondering  why  his  visitor 
did  not  speak.  The  visitor  waited  calmly  for  the  mayor  to 
stop  writing,  not  neglecting  in  the  meanwhile  to  carefully 
note  the  contents  of  the  room. 

^^  Well,  well,^^  began  the  mayor,  at  last,  in  a  supercilious 
tone. 

But  the  moment  he  looked  up  and  saw  the  calm  dignity 
of  the  gentleman  before  him,  his  manner  changed  in  an  in- 
stant. 

^^Ah,  ten  thousand  pardons,  monsieur;  have  a  seat. 
Eeally,  I  thought  it  was  only " 

"  Tut — tut.  Monsieur  the  Mayor,  do  I  not  know  the  re- 
sponsibility that  lies  on  your  shoulders?  I  would  not 
willingly  stop  one  stroke  of  your  pen.  Pray  finish,  ctud 
then  only  will  I  think  of  taking  up  your  time  with  my  friv- 
olous errand.  ^^ 

''  Oh,  monsieur,  it  is  nothing — that  is,  it  can  wait.  How 
can  I  serve  you?'^ 

^^Well,  if  you  really  will  not  proceed,  I  will  state  my 
errand.  I  am  deputed  by  the  society  for  the  encouragement 
of  marriage,  of  which,  as  you  know,  his  majesty  the  emperor 
is  the  president,  to  obtain  statistics  on  the  proportion  of 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  33 

marriages  to  the  population  in  what  was  the  sea  province  of 
Britanny.  You  had  been  favorably  mentioned  to  the  em- 
peror— I  do  not  know  by  whom — as  being  the  most  careful 
and  conscientious  officer  in  the  department.  Therefore,  it 
was  to  you  I  was  first  instructed  to  go,  in  order  that  I  might 
start  right/' 

So  overcome  was  the  mayor  by  this  harangue  that  he 
could  scarcely  more  than  bow  his  acknowledgments. 

*^  Monsieur/'  he  managed  to  say  at  last,  ''  you  do  me  too 
much  honor,  though  indeed  I  have  ever  striven  hard  to  de- 
serve the  good  opinion  of  his  majesty. 

'^  And  you  have  gained  it,  monsieur.  Now  I  will  take  no 
more  of  your  valuable  time." 

^'  I  am  only  too  glad  to  assist  you.'^ 

''  I  believe  it;  but  I  can  run  over  some  figures  if  you  will 
permit  me  to  look  at  some  of  your  books,  and  when  I  am 
through  with  the  mechanical  part  I  will  then  beg  you  for 
your  valuable  advice.  May  I  first  look  at  the  footings  in 
the  marriage  register?" 

^^  Certainly.  Here  it  is.  You  will  find  the  footings  by 
years.     How  far  back  will  you  go?" 

''  Only  for  ten  years." 

The  mayor's  pen  scratched.  The  visitor  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  the  register. 

''  Dear,  dear!"  muttered  the  visitor,  as  if  under  his  breath, 
but  in  reality  purposely  loud  enough  to  attract  the  mayor's 
attention. 

^^Whatisit?" 

^^  Oh,  pardon  my  thoughtless  exclamation.  It  is  nothing 
but  a  great  blot  that  covers  one  complete  entry." 

^^  Ah — ah,  indeed!"  stammered  the  mayor. 

'^  Yes;  I  can  make  out  only  the  date.  It  is  November  13, 
1865.     Fortunately,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me." 

^'No,  no;  of  course  not." 

'^  No;  but  do  you  know  if  I  were  a  criminal  officer  such  a 
blot  as  that  would  make  me  think?" 

''Eh — eh!"  gasped  the  mayor,  starting  from  his  chair 
and  looking  with  blanched  face  at  his  visitor. 

*'Yes." 

The  visitor  laid  one  hand  on  the  open  book  and  looked 
placidly  thoughtful. 

''Yes;  because  the  blot  looks  intentional/* 

"Looks  in-ten-tional?"  faltered  the  mayor. 


34  THE  AMEHICAN  MABQUIS. 

^*To  me,  yes.  But  I'm  afraid  you  will  laugh  at  me. 
Well,  I  confess  I  am  imagiuative.  But  do  you  know  I 
could  fancy  that  this  blotted  register  means — but  Tm  afraid 
you  will  laugh  at  me.^' 

The  mayor  looked  far  more  like  fainting  than  laughing, 
but  he  contrived  to  emit  a  ghostly  ^^he,  he.^' 

''  Oh,  I  knew  you  would  laugh. ^' 

Monsieur  Roche  was  as  calm  and  frigid  as  an  iceberg. 

^^  However,  this  is  what  I  could  fancy:  A  midnight  mar- 
riage.''^ 

The  mayor  gasped  and  clutched  his  chair,  at  the  same 
time  making  a  horrible  attempt  to  treat  the  matter  as  a 
joke. 

''Masked  faces.'^ 

Another  gasp. 

''  Whispered  responses;  hush  money  for  the  mayor,  w^ho 
should  carrv  his  register  to  a  deserted  chateau/' 

"  Grand  Dieur 

The  mayor  sank  a  ghastly  object  in  his  chair. 

''  Two  men  murdered  with  a  club;  a  fruitless  inquest;  a 
bloody  club  found  and  suppressed  by  the  mayor. ^^ 

''  Oh,  mercy,  mercy,  monsieur!  Indeed  I  am  not  as 
guilty  as  it  seems.  Surely,  if  you  know  so  much,  you  must 
know  that  I  intended  no  wrong.'' 

The  mayor  was  groveling  abjectly  at  the  feet  of  his 
visitor. 

''  Will  you  answer  my  questions  truthfully  if  I  promise 
that  you  shall  not  b6  prosecuted  ?'' 

''As  there  is  a  God  above  us!'^ 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  mayor's   story  AND   ITS   SEQUEL. 

"Tell  me  all  you  know  about  the  marriage. '^ 
"Why,   monsieur,  the  banns  were  first  regularly  pub- 
lished at  the  church.^' 

"  There  is  a  record  of  theni,  then,  giving  the  names?" 

"No,  the  record  was  destroyed.^' 

"Ah!  and  by  whom?    But  no  matter;  go  on." 

"After  the  banns,  a  man  came  to  me  and  said " 

^' Was  the  man  a  Frenchman?" 

^' Yes,  monsieur,  but  not  a  gentleman.     He  said  that  the 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  35 

lady  named  in  the  banns  had  been  living  here;  that  she 
was  going  to  marry  an  American  gentleman  who  was  so 
fond  of  mystery  that  he  wished  to  be  married  in  masks,  as 
if  just  from  a  ball.  I  said  it  was  foolish,  but  as  I  could  see 
no  harm  in  it  I  consented.''^ 

' '  The  whole  truth,  please.  How  much  did  it  cost  the  man 
to  make  you  think  it  was  not  wrong ?^' 

*^How  quick  you  are!  He  gave  me  five  hundred  francs. 
Then  he  said  they  wished  to  be  married  at  the  Chateau 
dTberri.     I  said  I  could  not  do  that,  but " 

''But  he  argued  well;  I  know.     How  much  for  that?^^ 

''One  thousand  francs.  You  know  about  the  marriage, 
perhaps?^' 

"Yes,  you  may  skip  that.     Then  what?'^ 

"That  is  all  I  know.  About  the  dead  men  I  know 
nothing.  I  was  afraid  it  might  get  me  in  trouble  if  I  said 
anything,  or  if  anything  were  learned  about  them,  and  that 
is  why  I  made  old  Pierre — you  know  old  Pierre?" 

"Yes,  I  know  him.^^ 

"  That  is  why  I  told  him  to  keep  the  stick  he  found.  I 
will  see  him  and  have  it  destroyed.     Had  I  not  better?"' 

The  mayor  whined  pitifully. 

"He  has  it  no  longer. '^ 

"Who has  it,  then?"' 

"I  " 

^•You?'' 

"  Yes.     Why  not?    Who  can  make  a  better  use  of  it?" 

"About  a  week  after  the  wedding,  some  visitors,  in  look- 
ing at  the  register,  made  that  blot  by  upsetting  the  ink- 
stand." 

Monsieur  Koche  looked  keenly  at  the  mayor. 

"  Was  the  man — perhaps  it  was  a  woman,  though — who 
upset  the  inkstand  the  same  you  had  negotiated  with?" 

"  No,  he  was  a  stranger  to  me,  and — and,  to  speak  the 
truth,  I  was  not  sorry  he  had  done  it." 

"  What  did  he  look  like?" 

"Indeed,  I  do  not  know;  for  in  the  hurry  and  confusion 
he  slipped  out  of  the  office,  and  I  did  not  see  him  again." 

"That  is  the  truth ?"' 

"It  is,  indeed." 

"  The  only  person  you  really  saw  was  the  man  who  ne- 
gotiated with  you?" 

"  Yes/' 


36  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^  Describe  him.     What  was  his  name?^^ 

'^I  did  not  know  that.  He  was  rather  short,  heavily 
built,  black  eyes  and  eyebrows,  heavy  black  mustache.  He 
was  not  a  gentleman. ^^ 

'^  You  mean  by  that,  that  he  was  a  rujSian,  I  suppose.^' 

^'  I  rather  suspected  it.''' 

^^  That  is  all r 

^'Yes.  IS^o.  He  had  a  scar  on  his  forehead,  which  his 
hair  generally  covered;  but  once  I  saw  it  when  he  acci- 
dentally brushed  his  hair  aside. 

"  He  saw  me  looking  at  it  and  laughed. 

"  I  asked  him  why  he  laughed. 

*'He  said  that  scar  always  made  him  laugh,  for  the  man 
who  hit  him  there  had  intended  to  kill  him,  but  had  not 
taken  into  account  his  iron  head.'^ 

"  Iron-lieadl  he  said  that  ?^' 

^^Yes,  monsieur.  ^^ 

''  Can  you  recall  any  of  the  names  signed  on  this  regis- 
ter?  The  blot  was  well  made,  and  cannot  be  seen  through.''^ 

''\  can  remember  one  name — that  is  the  first  name.^^ 

*^Ah!     What  was  it r 

*^  Clinton.     I  remembered  it  because  it  was  so  odd.^^ 

^'  Bah!  And  is  that  all?  You  cannot  recall  the  woman's 
name?'' 

^^And  you  cannot  give  me  the  faintest  clew  to  the 
names  or  looks  of  any  of  these  persons?'' 

^^No,  monsieur." 

^^  Good-day,  then.  I  hope  for  your  sake  that  you  have 
told  the  truth." 

''  I  have,  monsieur.  May  I  respectfully  ask  if  monsieur 
belongs  to  the  Department  of  Justice?" 

''  I  do/'  grimly. 

*^Ah,  then!  The  partly  reassured  man  became  frightened 
again.     ''  They  know  it  there.     I  am  ruined,  ruined." 

Monsieur  Eoche  looked  contemptuously  down  at  the 
mayor. 

'^'No.    I  alone  know  it." 

^^  And  my  secret  is  safe?    You  will  not  expose  me?" 

''  Have  I  not  promised?" 

^'Oh,  accept  my  gratitude!  Does  monsieur  return  at 
once  to  Paris?" 

''  Why  do  you  ask?" 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  37 

^'  Pardon  me.     It  was  only  curiosity/^ 

'*  It  was  not  curiosity;  but  never  mind.  Monsieur,  the 
Mayor,  listen  to  me.     You  love  money,  do  you  not?" 

"  Money  is  power.  ^^ 

"  You  love  itr 

''  Yes,  then.'' 

*'How  much  will  you  take  to  give  me  this  sheet  out  of  the 
register?'' 

•'Ah,  mon  Dieuf  Money  cannot  tempt  me.  I  should 
surely  be  discovered." 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  talk  about  you  with  the  lieutenant 
of  police.     Good-day." 

"Ah,  monsieur!" 

*' Well,  then?" 

'^  What  will  you  give?" 

^'  Five  thousand  francs."  ^ 

*'Say  ten  thousand." 

''  Ah!  ten  thousand.     Well,  so  be  it." 

'*  I  will  turn  my  back  while  you  take  the  leaf." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  not  a  thief.  Bring  it  to  my  room  at 
the  hotel.     I  will  there  give  you  the  money." 

"  If  monsieur  pleases,  I  am  afraid  it  will  look  ill  if  I  call 
upon  you  at  the  hotel.     People  may  remember  afterward." 

*^  You  are  very  cautious.     Well,  where,  then?" 

'^  If  monsieur  should  take  the  night  train  away.^" 

^^Yes." 

''  He  might  send  his  baggage,  if  he  have  any?" 

^f  Yes." 

"  To  the  depot?" 

''  Yes." 

''  And  meet  me  at  the  little  bridge  north  of  the  depot?'^ 

^^AVell?" 

'^  Nobody  would  know  then.  The  transfer  could  be  made 
quickly,  and  you  could  be  back  in  time  to  take  the  train." 

''  Good!     I  will  be  there.     Do  not  fail  me." 

During  the  day  Monsieur  Roche  tried  in  vain  to  get  some 
trace  of  the  record  o±  the  banns. 

At  night  he  walked  through  the  gloom  to  the  station,  left 
his  valise  there,  and  sauntered  on  to  the  bridge. 

The  mayor  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Have  you  the  sheet?" 

''  Yes.     And  you  the  money?" 

^^Yes." 


38  THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS. 

^^  Exchange,  then/^ 

The  exchange  was  quickly  made. 

^^I  will  trust  you  that  the  money  is  right/^  said  the 
mayor. 

''I  will  not  trust  you,  though,  said  the  other. 

And  he  lighted  a  match,  and  quickly  glanced  over  the 
sheet. 

^asit  rights 

''  Yes.     Good-night/' 

^^  Good-night.'' 

The  mayor,  with  an  agility  not  to  be  expected  from  him, 
had  barely  uttered  the  words,  than  he  sprang  forward  and 
had  nearly  buried  a  long,  sharp  knife  in  the  back  of  Mon- 
sieur Koche. 

"  Not  so.  Monsieur  the  Mayor.     I  was  expecting  it.^' 

Monsieur  Koche,  quickly  but  calmly,  had  swung  about, 
and  caught  the  other  by  the  wrist. 

A  sudden  wrench,  and  the  dislocated  arm  hung  limp  at 
^e  mayor's  side.  The  stiletto  fell  to  the  ground, 
'^ifj  Unfaithful  officer!'^  said  Monsieur  Koche,  sternly, 
^^^ould-be  murderer!  Keep  the  money.  It  will  bring  its 
own  curse.  Time  will  punish  you.  I  will  take  this  knife. 
You  will  some  day  see  it  again.'' 


CHAPTER  XL 

TETE-DE-FER. 

'^  Show  the  gentleman  in." 

The  speaker  was  a  tall,  wiry,  keen-eyed,  soldierly  looking 
personage.  He  was  the  Chief  of  Police  in  Paris,  and  knew 
every  rogue  in  France. 

The  visitor  was  announced. 

''  You  are  Monsieur  Henri  Roche?" 

^aam.'' 

*^  You  have  a  letter  to  me  from  the  Minister  of  the  In- 
terior?'' 

^^Here  it  is,  monsieur." 

**  You  win  be  good  enongh  to  answer  whatever  questions  Monsieur 
Henri  Roche  may  ask  you.  He  needs  information  concerning  a  man 
who  may  be  known  to  "you.  I  answer  for  his  discretion.  What  you 
do  for  him  will  be  done  for  me." 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  39 

''So,  monsieur/^  said  the  chief,  after  reading  the  letter, 
''you  seek  information.     Ask/^ 

''I  know  so  little  of  what  I  want,  that  I  am  afraid  you 
may  lose  patience  with  me/' 

The  chief  smiled  pleasantly,  as  if  his  patience  was  inex- 
haustible. 

''I  wish  to  know  if,  among  the  criminals  you  have  record 
of,  there  is  one  known  by  the  name  of  Tete-de-Fer?" 

''  Tete-de-Fer?''  repeated  the  chief,  reflectively.  ''  That 
is  somehow  familiar.     Wait!     No.^* 

He  tapped  a  bell  twice. 

''Is  the  secretary  there ?'^ 

"Yes,  monsieur.^^ 

"  Ask  him  to  bring  here  Sobriquet  Book  T." 

"Yes,  monsieur. ^^ 

" I  thought,"  said  the  chief,  "at  first  that  I  could  fix  the 
man,  but  I  guess  it  is  only  a  vague  recollection  I  have.  You 
know  no  other  name?^^ 

"  No,  monsieur.^'  ^ 

"Ah,  well,  here  is  the  book  will  tell.  Names  I  keep  hjre 
' — faces  here.'*'  ^ 

He  tapped  his  head  significantly. 

^^ Ta— Te— Teb— Ted,^^  he  read  off.  "Ah!  Tete  de— 
Tete  de — bah!  Let  me  look  again.  No,  monsieur,  it  is 
not  here.^^ 

"  And  there  is  no  other  way  of  finding  out?" 

"Not  unless  you  had  a  description  of  him.^^ 

"I  have  one." 

"Ah!"^ 

The  chief  laid  back  and  shut  his  eyes  to  listen. 

•'Short,  thickset,  black  eyes  and  eyebrows,  heavy  black 
mustache,  rough  in  his  manner,  a  scar  on  his  forehead 
where  a  club  struck  him,  scar  covered  by  hair  brushed  down, 
voice  gruff,  speaks  with  slight  Breton  accent." 

The  chief  opened  his  eyes,  and  smiled  intelligently. 

Two  taps  on  the  bell. 

"Francois,  bring  me  Photograph  Book  No.  57;  also 
Kegister,  letter  C.     Quickly." 

Monsieur  Eoche^s  hands  closed  a  little,  perhaps,  but  he 
made  no  other  sign  of  emotion. 

Francois  brought  in  two  large  volumes. 

The  chief  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  photograph  book 
briskly. 


40  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

'*  Ah!    Look  at  tliat!'^ 

Monsieur  Koche  gazed  earnestly  at  a  brutal  face^  which 
answered  so  closely  to  his  description  that  he  had  no  hesita- 
tion in  saying: 

^atisher 

^'^I  thought  so.  Now  the  description.  See,  it  is  almost 
to  a  dot  like  yours,  except  that  this  says,  *  Nail  of  little 
finger  of  left  hand  gone. ^     Now  his  history: 

^^  ^Name,  Robert  Caradoc;  born,  1820;  birthplace,  Brest, 
Britanny.  Garroter;  uses  club.^  Here  follow  accounts  of 
his  arrests  and  imprisonments.  You  don^t  care  for  that,  I 
s^pose?^^ 

^^  No;  I  want  to  find  him.''^ 

^^Well,  here  we  have  him,  I  guess.  That  sort  of  fellow 
is  seldom  long  out  of  prison.     Yes,  here  it  is: 

'^  ^Attempt  at  garroting  in  March,  1866;  five  years  at 
Toulon.^    Eh!     ^Escaped;  is  now  in  America/ '''' 

A  shade  may  have  passed  over  Monsieur  Eoche^s  face, 
but  that  was  all. 
^^^  Nothing  more?^^  he  asked,  calmly. 

^*^Nota  word.  If  you  want  him  badly,  you  will  have  to 
go  to  America.  ^^ 

''  Yes,  I  suppose  so.^' 

^^You  willgo?'' 

^a  think  so.'' 

The  chief  reflected  a  moment;  then  spoke: 

*^You  are  a  man  of  judgment.  If  I  could  help  you, 
you  would  ask  me,  I  do  not  doubt.  Still,  I  offer  you  my 
services. '' 

"  Thank  you.  I  believe  you.  You  cannot  help  me  now 
but  with  advice.  How  shall  I  go  about  finding  him  in 
Am  erica?'' 

*"  Straight  to  New  York.  All  our  rogues  go  there.  Go 
to  the  headquarters  and  look  for  his  picture.  If  it  is  not 
there  describe  the  man  to  the  Chief  of  Police.  I  will  give 
you  a  letter  which  will  open  the  hearts  of  the  police  in  New 
York. 

^'  May  I  copy  this  photograph?" 

^'How?" 

^^By  drawing  it.'' 

^VAreyou  an  artist,  then?" 

^'  Among  other  things." 

''Copy  it." 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  41 

Monsieur  Eoche  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  sketch- 
book, borrowed  a  fine  pen  from  the  chief,  and  in  a  marvel- 
ously  short  time  had  made  a  perfect  likeness  of  the  man. 

^' You  will  find  himT"  exclaimed  the  chief. 

ii  Why  do  you  think  so?'^ 

'^  Because  you  are  in  earnest.  I  wish  you  were  one  of  my 
agents?^' 

"■  What  do  you  mean?'^ 

"  That  you  are  beautifully  disguised.  You  took  me  in 
completely.  If  I  had  not  seen  your  hands,  I  should  never 
have  suspected.  But  it  is  all  right.  I  know  your  introduc- 
tion is  genuine.     Some  day,  tell  me  who  you  are.'^ 

The  chief  laughed,  pleased  to  have  shown  his  acuteness. 

Monsieur  Eoche  merely  bowed. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

THE   MARQUIS   D'IBERRI. 

^^  Hello!  marquis,  old  fella,  ha  da  dow?  Ba  Jawve, 
Ah'm  glad  to  see  ya!     Ha  d'yalikeNo  Yawk?    Hah?'' 

"  Well,  I  yet  can  zay  not  egzactly,  I  am  so  unaquaint.'^ 

'^  Ha!  ha!  yas.  No,  of  cawse,  ya  cawn't.  Oh,  but,  ah 
saay,  marquis,  ah'm  gone  t'  introduce  ya  round,  ya  know, 
befaw  the  season's  ova.'^ 

''Oh,  ah,  vralement.  I  musta  egscuse  you,  buta  I  can 
spe'k  Engleesh  so  bad  at  present.'' 

''Ha!  ha!  yas,  to  be  sure.  Mus' ga  roun',  ya  know, 
though.  Oh,  ah  saay,  Alphonse,  jolly  glaad  t'  see  ya!  Ma 
friend,  Marquis  dTberri.  Marquis,  ma  friend,  Mr.  Gorinot. 
Ya'll  be  glad  to  knaw  each  other.  Frenchman  in  Paris, 
'.Merican  heah.  Caame  ovah  in  stimmah  togathah,  Al- 
phonse." 

Mr.  Gorinot  and  the  marquis  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction courteously,  and  the  young  swell  ambled  off,  feel- 
ing that  he  had  done  his  duty  by  the  dignified  young 
foreigner  who  had  such  difficulty  with  his  English. 

Two  remarkable  men  they  were  who  stood  before  each 
other,  gazing  earnestly,  not  to  say  curiously,  at  one  another. 

Both  were  models  in  face  and  figure,  but  they  were  as 
different  in  type  as  two  men  could  well  be. 

The  marquis  was  tall  and  muscular.     His  clean-shaven 


42  THE  A:MERICAN  MAHQUIS. 

face  was  rather  Saxon  than  French  in  style,  and  was  pe- 
culiar for  the  firm  set  of  the  lower  jaw,  and  the  calm,  pen- 
etrating expression  of  his  gray  eyes. 

There  was  a  fascinating  grace  in  his  manner,  and  a  seduc- 
tive charm  in  his  melodious  voice;  but  the  dignity  of  his 
bearing  almost  chilled. 

Alphonse  Gorinot  was  almost  what  the  marquis  was  not. 
Short,  slight,  active,  but  not  muscular.  His  dark-skinned 
oval  face  setoff  by  dark-brown  mustache  and  imperial. 

The  eyes  vivacious,  but  not  confidence-inspiring;  the 
mouth  mobile,  but,  in  repose,  almost  cruel. 

'^  Where  have  I  seen  him  before?'^  the  marquis  asked 
himself. 

^^I  can  claim  you  as  countryman,  marquis, ^^  said  Gorinot, 
in  perfect  French. 

*'  Your  French  proves  that.     But  how  is  it?'^ 

"  Why,  my  parents  were  both  French,  and  I  was  par- 
tially educated-  in  France.  My  father  died,  my  mother 
married  an  American,  and  I  came  here.  I  keep  up  my 
French  by  going  over  regularly.  I  wonder  I  never  met  you 
in  Paris.  ^^ 

^^I  seldom  am  there,  and,  except  to  attend  the  em- 
peror's receptions  when  I  must,  I  do  not  go  out  at  all.  But 
for  all  that,  I  can't  help  thinking  I  have  seen  you." 

*^Very  likely,"  laughed  Gorinot.  ^^I  don't  hide  my 
light  when  Fm  in  Paris.  But  look  here;  you  must  be 
awfully  bored  in  this  city,  with  nobody  but  waiters  to 
speak  your  own  language  to.  Come  take  dinner  with  us 
to-ni^ht,  and  goto  the  opera.  We  all  speak  French  at  our 
house." 

''  Eeally  you  must  excuse  me." 

*^Xo,  I  won't.  What!  a  real,  live  marquis  to  be  allowed 
to  vegetate  in  Xew  York!  You  don't  know  the  people. 
Take  my  advice  and  come  with  me.  If  you  don't,  you'll  be 
run  to  death  with  tuft-hunters.  That  young  Jones  will 
make  it  the  business  of  his  life  to  introduce  you  around. 
Ba  Jawve." 

Gorinot  laughed  merrily,  and  then  went  on: 

''You  don't  believe  me.  All  right.  See,  there's  Jones 
now,  bringing  two  worshipers  to  your  shrine." 

The  marquis  could  not  doubt  it,  for  there  was  the  eager 
young  swell,  arm  in  arm  with  two  acquaintances,  making 
straight  toward  them. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAKQUIS.  43 

^^  Oome/^  said  Gorinot.     ''  Let's  escape.'' 

They  walked  into  the  reading-room  of  the  hotel  in  which 
the  scene  had  taken  place. 

''Now,  marquis,"  went  on  Gorinot,  in  his  volatile  way, 
•'you  see  how  it  is.  You'd  better  surrender  gracefully. 
We're  used  to  titles  at  our  house,  and  won't  persecute 
you." 

"  Not  to  make  it  quite  a  surrender,"  answered  the  mar- 
quis, pleasantly,  ^'let  me  say  that  I  accept  w^ith  pleasure." 

''  That's  right;  and  when  I  meet  you  in  Paris  you  'can 
show  me  the  lions  there." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  know  them  better  than  I  do." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  show  them  to  you." 

That  evening  a  carriage  drove  up  to  a  stately  mansion 
on  Madison  avenue,  and  the  marquis  got  out. 

"Ah,  marquis,  you  did  not  play  me  false,  then.  And 
well  for  me  that  you  did  not,  for  the  ladies  are  crazy  to 
have  a  new  man  to  talk  French  with.  They  are  tired 
of  me." 

Gorinot  led  the  marquis  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  Marquis  d'Iberri,  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Howard,  my  sister. 
Miss  Howard.     Eh!     Why,  marquis,  are  you  ill?" 

"No,  no,  a  mere  trifle — a  spasm — quite  gone  now." 

Gone  it  did  seem  to  be,  but  a  trifle  it  surely  was  not, 
for  the  marquis  was  not  the  man  to  change  color  to  a 
ghastly  white,  put  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  moan  for 
a  trifle. 

Gone  like  a  flash  it  was,  and  the  marquis  was  his  cool, 
dignified  self  in  an  instant. 

"Pardon  me,  ladies.  Put  it  down  to  my  pleasure  in 
meeting  ladies  with  whom  I  can  exchange  thoughts  in 
my  own  language." 

"Oh,  Heaven!"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "why  was  I 
led  here?    Why  have  I  seen  that  face  again?" 

What  face? 

Was  it  that  of  Grace  Howard? 

If  so,  why  should  a  face  like  hers  make  him  turn  pale? 
A  fairer  face  never  was  looked  upon. 

A  little  of  melancholy  in  it,  much  womanly  sweetness, 
much  maidenly  archness.  Much  that  was  tender,  much 
that  was  honest  and  true. 

Kavishing  beauty,  bewitching  grace. 

Limpid,  soulful  blue  eyes,  moist,  tempting,  cherry  lips. 


44  THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS. 

Freshness  and  health  on  the  peachy  cheeks.    Teeth  of  ivory; 
dimples  for  Gupid  himself  to  envy. 

The  vivacity,  frankness,  joyousness  of  a  girl,  the  dignity 
and  self-possession  of  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   PORTEAIT  OF  THE   LOIS^ELY  HOUSE. 

"No  one  would  have  recognized  the  vindictive  Jacques 
Broune,  the  cold,  hard  Henri  Eoche,  nor  even  the  dignified, 
distant  Marquis  d^Iberri  in  the  entertaining  young  French- 
man who  joyously  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  Grace  How 
ard's  presence  that  night. 

All  the  hauteur  and  freezing  courtesy  of  the  marquis 
had  melted  away  before  the  charm  of  the  beautiful  young 
woman's  companionship. 

In  the  manner  of  the  marquis  was  much  of  the  light- 
someness  and  manly  grace  of  Clinton  Hastings,  though 
with  none  of  the  artistes  reckless  humor. 

During  all  the  evening  nothing  but  happy  thoughts 
found  a  place  in  the  handsome  young  Frenchman's  mind. 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  the  stern  intensity  of  his 
clear  gray  eyes  faded  away  and  gave  place  to  a  reflection  of 
the  frank  gayety  which  lighted  up  the  deep  blue  eyes  of 
sweet  Grace  Howard. 

And  the  fixed  lines  of  his  mouth  were  gone;  and  the  lips 
that  an  hour  before  looked  as  if  they  were  made  to  utter 
death-sentences,  now  curled  with  many  a  merry  jest  or 
parted  in  light  laughter. 

Fascinated  and  completely  carried  away  the  marquis  lived 
only  for  the  moment. 

If  a  thought  of  the  wonderful  change^  so  suddenly  come 
over  him,  entered  his  mind  he  cast  it  out  with  all  the  gay 
thoughtlessness  of  reckless  Clinton  Hastings. 

When  others  listened  to  the  music  and  looked  upon  the 
performers  on  the  stage  he  gazed  only  at  her  and  drank  in 
great  draughts  of  love. 

''It  is  fate, ^^  he  said  to  himself,  ''sweet  fate  that  has 
brought  this  about.  And  I  was  chiding  fate  for  it!  Ah, 
Clinton,  Clinton,  you  little  tliought  wlien  you  spent  all 
those  hungry  days  gazing  at  her  inanimate  picture  that 
Heaven  would  ever  be  as  kind  to  you  as  this. 


THE  AMEEICAN  MAKQUIS.  45 

^^Why  is  it  that  I  loved  her  so  when  love  was  hopeless — 
mad,  unless  fate  urged  me  on. 

^' Why  should  I  meet  her  now  a  free  woman  to  hear  my 
love  if  fate  had  not  so  willed  it? 

''  Why,  after  my  terrible  sufferings  and  the  hardening  of 
my  soul,  should  I  meet  her  now,  a  sweet  angel  to  pour  balm 
upon  my  heart  wounds  if  fate  had  not  wihed  it? 

'*  In  love  with  another?  It  may  be,  but  I  do  not  believe 
it,  for  in  those  deep  blue  eyes  when  I  looked  in  them  came 
up  the  reflection  of  a  free  maidenly  heart. 

"Oh,  I  will  win  her,  I  will  win  her.  I  must.  I  will  let 
her  see  into  my  heart  and  read  its  earnestness  and  pas- 
sion. 

^'It  cannot  be  that  fate  has  led  us  together  only  to  mock 
at  me. 

^'  She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make  her  so  happy — 
happy  as  only  such  an  angel  of  purity  as  she  deserves  to 
be?^ 

And  as  the  short  hours  sped  away  they  carried  with  them 
the  sweetest  moments  of  Clinton  Hastings'  life. 

Deeper  and  deeper  he  drank  from  the  fountain  of  love, 
and  his  whole  being  was  in  a  strange  ecstasy  of  bliss. 

How  marvelous  was  it  that  a  strong,  iron- willed  man 
could  thus  be  carried  away  by  a  sentiment  born  in  a  mo- 
ment of  a  chance  glimpse  of  a  sweet  face,  and  strenghtened 
into  an  overpowering  vitality  by  one  short  evening  of  com- 
panionship! 

When  Clinton  Hastings,  or  Marquis  d^Iberri — for  he  was 
lawfully  both — reached  his  room  that  night,  he  gave  himself 
over  to  the  sweet  joy  of  hope. 

Gone  was  every  hard  thought  from  his  heart;  fled  was 
the  spirit  of  vengeance;  forgotten  the  fearful  oath  of  the 
square  chamber. 

^^  Bah!^'"  he  exclaimed  in  disgust.  ^'  I  was  going  to  make 
a  hangman  of  myself,  and  gloat  over  the  sufferings  of  a 
woman  who  had  played  with  my  heart,  and  then  tossed  me 
to  death  like  a  piece  of  carrion.  What  care  I  for  her  or 
what  she  did,  now  that  I  mo-y  win  my  first  and  true  love! 
That  was  a  wild  infatuation  for  the  masked  creature, 
though,  and  she  was  superb.     Good  Heaven!  when  I  think 

of  her  perfidy,  I .     No,  no,  Clinton,  don't  think  of  it. 

You  were  to  blame,  too.     You  led  her  on  to  play  with  you 


46  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

by  giving  way  to  that  insane  burst  of  passion.  'No,  no,  let 
her  go," 

But,  ah!  what  terrible  thought  is  this  that  starts  him  to 
his  feet,  the  cold  beads  of  perspiration  standing  thick  on 
his  forehead! 

What  could  tear  that  groan  from  his  throat? 

^^  But,  oh,  good  Heaven!  good  Heaven?  I  cannot  let  her 
go!  I  must  hold  to  her  as  she  has  to  me.  We  are  bound! 
Oh,  why  did  I  forget  that?  Why  did  I  not  remember  that 
in  time?  Must  my  heart  go  back  to  its  prison?  my  soul 
shrink  back  into  its  nothingness,  after  the  bliss,  the  freedom 
of  this  night!  Oh,  Heaven!  Is  there  afateinthis?  Must 
that  angel  face  be  ever  a  forerunner  of  the  hand  that  shall 
score  its  bloody  tracks  upon  my  heart !^^ 

The  young  man  stopped;  a  storm  of  rage  contorted  his 
mobile  features;  the  left  hand  pressed  upon  his  breast,  as  if 
to  still  the  beating  of  his  heart. 

The  struggle  was  short;  the  convulsed  features  resumed 
their  repose. 

Not  the  joyous  repose  of  the  evening,  but  the  fixed  repose 
of  the  afternoon.     A  baleful  light  was  in  the  gray  eyes. 

"'  Is  it  perdition  that  drives  me?'^ 

His  voice  was  hoarse.''^ 

^*  Well,  and  why  not?  What  matters  it,  anyhow?  It  is 
enough  I  am  driven.  There  stand  the  gates  of  Paradise 
open  to  me,  but  I  must  pass  through  perdition  to  reach 
them.  I  come.  Woman,  beware.  XVhen  vengeance  alone 
spurred  me  on,  I  was  terrible.  Now,  vengeance  is  but  an 
instrument,  and  no  demon  could  be  more  merciless  than 
I  in  using  itl^' 

CHAPTEE  XIV. 

THE  MAN  WHO   KILLS   WITH   A   CLUB. 

The  next  day,  when  Alphonse  Gorinot  called  to  see  his 
new  friend,  the  marquis,  he  was  surprised  to  receive  a  note 
from  that  young  gentleman,  saying  he  had  been  called  away 
on  business  of  importance,  but  would  return  before  long  to 
continue  an  acquaintance  so  happily  begun. 

The  same  day,  Henri  Roche,  impassible,  grave,  and  stern 
as  ever,  took  rooms  at  a  quiet  hotel  down  town. 

A  little  later  he  called  at  the  Police  Headquarters,  and. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  47 

after  handing  over  his  letters,  was  invited  to  the  sanctum. 

The  chief  received  him  courteously,  at  the  same  time 
studying  him  with  the  quick  glance  of  an  expert  in 
physiognomy. 

iS'^othing  did  he  make  of  Henri  Eoche,  however. 

''  You  are  looking  for  a  criminal,  then,  eh?'' 

^^Yes,  sir.'' 

^'  He  is  wanted  on  the  other  side?'' 

**^  No;  or,  at  any  rate,  I  am  not  on  that  mission.  I  only 
want  to  extract  some  information  from  him." 

'*  Let  me  see  his  description." 

It  was  handed  to  him. 

'^I  don't  recognize  him,  and  I  guess  he  hasn't  passed 
through  my  hands  yet.  But,  I  tell  you — you  just  run  your 
eye  over  those  photographs,  and  I'll  send  for  a  detective  who 
keeps  track  of  all  our  foreign  visitors." 

Roche  did  as  directed,  but  he  saw  no  face  in  the  ugly  as- 
sortment at  all  like  the  one  he  was  in  search  of. 

The  detective  came,  studied  the  description,  and  was 
silent  a  few  moments. 

Henri  was  impassive. 

"  I  won't  swear  to  the  man  from  this,"  said  the  detective, 
at  last;  "but  if  you'll  go  with  me,  I'll  point  out  the  man  I 
think  fits  it." 

"  Perhaps  this  picture  will  help  yon. 

^'  That's  the  man,"  said  the  detective  at  once.  I  can  lay 
my  finger  on  him  at  any  time.     What  is  it — extradition?" 

"  No.     He  knows  something  I  want  to  know." 

"  Sorry  for  that.  Chief,  he's  the  chap  they  call  Frenchy. 
He's  suspected  on  that  bank  job,  you  know;  but  we  haven't 
fixed  it  yet.  I'd  like  to  lay  hands  on  him,  too;  for  I'm 
dead  certain  he's  the  one  who  downed  poor  Bill  Curtis. 
Don't  you  know  Bill  had  his  skull  broke  the  same  way  as 
the  bank  janitor?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  recollect.  Perhaps,  Dan,  you  and  this  gen- 
tleman could  work  it  together  some  way  to  get  the  drop  on 
him.     AVhat  do  you  think,  sir?" 

'^  I  think  it  is  a  good  idea." 

Roche  and  Dan  Hartley  had  a  long  and  earnest  conference 
together,  the  gist  of  which  was  all  contained  in  the  few 
final  words  of  summing  up. 

"  Then  it's  this  way,"  said  Dan;  "  you're  to  join  'em  and 
get  Frenchy's  ©onfidence.     Of  course  you  speak  French?" 


48  THE  AMERICAK  MAEQUIS. 

^'  Like  a  French  in  an — as  I  am/^ 

''Pshaw!  I  took  yon  for  English.  Well,  if  you  can  get 
good  evidence  ai^^ainst  him,  without  appearing  yourself,  on 
the  old  bank  job,  or  anything  else,  I'll  fall  on  him.  If  you 
can't,  get  into  some  job  with  him,  give  it  away  to  me,  and 
I'll  see  it  through.  After  we've  got  him  you  can  use  him  \ 
any  way  you  please.  ^^  ■ 

'•'  Good.  Now  give  me  a  password,  so  you^ll  know  me  in 
my  disguise." 

'*'  Oh,  I  guess  1^11  know  you.'^ 

Dan  smiled  at  the  idea  of  a  password. 

^'Perhaps;  but  to  be  sure,  let^s  say  ^  Vengeance.^ ^^ 

^' All  right.  ^Vengeance*  then.  And  I  don't  know  but 
you're  right,  for  I  may  have  to  fix  up,  and  you^ll  want  some 
way  to  know  me." 

Henri  Eoche  smiled  now. 

The  two  men  took  a  keen  look  at  each  other,  and  each 
divining  what  the  other^s  purpose  was,  they  both  smiled  and 
shook  hands  cordially. 


CHAPTER  XV.  J 

THE   IRON-ARM   AND  THE   IRON-HEAD.  ' 

About  two  hours  later,  a  heavy,  brutal-looking  man  of  , 
about  twenty-five,  a  foreigner,  and  apparently  a  stranger  in  .; 
the  city,  turned  from  Canal  street  into  Mott  street  and  ' 
walked  carelessly  down  it,  looking  carefully  along  both  sides 
of  the  street. 

He  was  fairly  well  dressed,  and  wore  not  a  little  jewelry; 
but  the  brutality  of  his  face  could  not  be  overcome  by  any 
such  means,  and  in  spite  of  an  effort  to  leer  pleasantly  at 
some  passing  woman,  he  was  forbidding  in  the  extreme. 

Apparently  he  did  not  find  what  he  wanted,  for  he  stopped 
and  turned  back,  hesitated,  and  looked  up  and  down  the| 
street  in  great  perplexity.  ! 

A  vegetable  huckster  was  passing — he  hailed  him. 

"  Looka!  I  wanta  hotel  Italiano.  He  tella  me  een  disa 
strit." 

^^I  don't  know  enny  sech  hotel.  Ax  some  o'  those  fellers 
hanging  round  that  saloon." 

^^  You  can  aska  him." 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  49 

^^  What  would  I  ask  for?  Ask  yourself.  Got  a  tongue, 
ain't  ye?" 

And  the  huckster  hurried  off,  apparently  anxious  to  escape 
any  more  talk  with  the  fierce  Italian. 

'^  Vengeance !''  whispered  the  foreigner. 

''  Sold!''  exclaimed  the  huckster.     ''  You'll  do!" 

Henri  Roche,  or  Jean  Lenoir,  as  he  now  called  himself, 
having  given  Dan  Hartley  a  sample  of  his  ability,  put  aside 
his  Italian  accent,  and  assuming  that  of  a  southern  French- 
man, walked  into  a  little  French  eating-house  and  called  for 
a  bottle  of  wine. 

The  eating-house  was,  in  fact,  the  rendezvous  of  the  par- 
ticular gang  of  desperadoes  to  which  Eobert  Caradoc,  or 
Frenchy,  belonged. 

That  is^  Frenchy  consorted  with  his.  outcast  countrymen 
there,  but  he  did  not  do  business  with  them. 

Most  of  them  were  on  a  different  lay  from  his,  and, 
moreover,  he  had  learned  caution  by  experience  at  home, 
and  kept  away,  when  he  was  not  working,  from  his  business 
associates. 

He  and  some  of  his  friends  were  playing  vingt-et-un  at  a 
table  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 

They  were  not  so  fully  engaged,  however,  that  they  did 
not  see  the  new-comer,  and  note  his  jewelry. 

They  also  noted  his  style,  and  they  were  satisfied  that  he 
was  not  their  game. 

When  Jean  had  finished  as  much  of  the  wine  as  he  could 
drink,  he  walked  ever  to  the  table  and  looked  on  at  the 
game,  taking  such  a  position  as  would  enable  him  to  get  a 
good  look  at  Caradoc. 

^*  Take  a  hand?"  inquired  that  worthy,  in  choice  French 
slang,  or  '^  argot,"  as  it  is  called  in  Paris. 

''I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  replied  Jean,  in  the  same  dialect. 
'*  I  like  to  play  with  friends." 

*^What  lay  are  you  on?"  quietly  inquired  one  of  the 
men. 

^'I'm  a  banker,  well  known  in  Paris.  The  weather  is 
warm  there  just  now,  and  I  left  for  my  health." 

A  coarse  laugh  greeted  this  sally,  and^the  game  went  on, 
until  one  of  the  men  who  was  losing  became  angry,  and 
thinking  the  new-comer  a  good  subject  for  his  ill-temper, 
opened  on  him,  and  accused  him  of  cheating. 

*  *  You're  a  liar,"  said  Jean,  coolly. 


50  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

Without  any  waste  of  words  the  man,  who  was  a  burly 
fellow,  whipped  out  his  knife  and  sprang  at  Jean. 

Tiie  others  moved  aside  to  watch  the  fun  in  safety. 

Jean  caught  the  man,  took  the  knife  from  him  as  if  he 
had  been  a  child,  and  drove  it  to  its  hilt  in  the  table. 

*^  Don't  be  a  tool/'  he  said,  ^^or  1^11  dislocate  your  arm. 
It's  a  trick  I  have.'^ 

With  an  oath  the  man  rushed  at  him  again,  unable  to  be- 
lieve that  he  could  have  been  so  easily  worsted,  except  by  a 
trick  he  could  overcome. 

Jean  caught  him,  whirled  him  about,  took  him  by  the 
arm,  and  threw  him  away  with  a  peculiar  twist. 

The  man's  right  arm  hung  limp — dislocated. 

''1  told  you  so,"  said  Jean,  quietly.  ^^This  is  my  trick. 
They  call  me  Bras-de-Fer  (Iron- Arm)  in  Paris." 

^^  Aha,"  laughed  Caradoc,  glancing  admiringly  at  him, 
"  we  must  be  related  then,  for  I  have  been  called  Tete-de- 
Fer." 

^^Bravo,  .comrade!"  exclaimed  Jean;  ^Met's  have  a  bottle 
to  better  acquaintance.  That  is,  if  the  old  villain  here  has 
anything  but  the  sour  poison  he  just  gave  me.  I  guess  he 
thought  I  was  an  Italian." 

Then  turning  to  the  man  who  was  groaning  with  pain,  he 
said: 

"  Look  you,  771071  aTui,  I  bear  you  no  ill-will,  and  if  you 
are  satisfied  I  will  throw  your  arm  back  and  you  shall  drink 
with  us.     What  say  you?'^ 

^'Eh,  7non  Dieii,  Monsieur  Bras-de-Fer.  Yes,  I  am  sat- 
isfied, and  I  hope  you  are." 

*'  Oh,  yes,  I  needed  some  sort  of  introduction  to  you  all, 
and  I  guess  this  will  do.     Eh?" 

He  looked  around  inquiringly. 

''  Yes,  yes,"  was  the  admiring  affirmative. 

A  skillful  pull  and  turn  sent  the  dislocated  arm  back  in 
its  socket  with  a  snap. 

^^  Now  rub  that  with  liniment  to-night,  and  in  a  week 
you  will  be  all  right,  unless  you  should  call  me  a  cheat 
again." 

There  was  no  trouble  after  that  in  entering  into  the  most 
cordiarrelations  with  all  the  men  excepting  Frenchy. 

Frenchy  admired  and  respected  the  man  who  was  so 
strong,  and  who  bore  him  so  masterfully. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  51 

But  Frenchy  saw  no  reason  wliy  he  should  take  him  into 
his  confidence  until  it  should  be  profitable  to  do  so. 

Consequently  Jean  played  cards  and  drank  bad  wine  with 
his  wily  compatriot  to  no  avail,  until  he  saw  that  he  must 
be  the  one  to  propose  a  scheme. 

'^  Mon  ami/^  said  he.  ^'It  seems  to  me  an  iron  head 
and  an  iron  arm  could  do  good  work  together/^ 

^^How?"'  inquired  Frenchy,  cautiously. 

"  Come  to  my- room. ^^ 

Frenchy  followed  him. 

^'  I  told  you  I  was  a  banker  in  Paris. ^^ 

^^Yes.^^ 

''  Well,  I  am  interested  in  banks  here,  then,  of  course. ^^ 

Frenchy  laughed. 

^^  For  a  week  I  have  been  studying  the  system  of  one  of 
the  banks  here.'^ 

^^Did  you  learn  much?" 

^'  Not  as  much  as  I  wanted  to,  and  so  I  wanted  you  to 
help  me.^^ 

'^  How  can  I?-' 

^^  I  don^t  speak  English  well  yet,  and  the  janitor  might 
not  understand  me.     You  could  interpret.  ^^ 

^as  that  all  ?'^ 

'^That^s  all.  We  will  go  around  there  some  pleasant 
evening  when  the  moon  is  not  too  bright.  You  will  tell 
the  janitor  something  for  me,  and  then  we  will  come 
awav.^^ 

^MVhat  shall  I  tell  him^ 

'^  Tell  him  that  if  he  makes  any  noise  you  will  phlebot- 
omize him.^' 

' '  Phlebotomize  ?    What  is  that  r 

''  That  means  to  open  a  vein  and  let  out  a  little  blood.  It 
is  a  medical  term." 

^-  You  are  learned.  ^^ 

''  Yes,  I  once  assisted  a  doctor  to  bank  his  money. ^' 

Frenchy  laughed.     He  was  delighted  with  Bras-de-Fer. 

"And  when  I  tell  him  that,  what  will  you  do?'^  he 
asked. 

"I  will  go  down  stairs  and  make  a  final  study  of  the 
banking  system." 
^' What  bank  is  it?" 
Jean  described  where  the  bank  was. 


52  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

Frenchy  pursed  his  lips  and  shook  his  head.  He  did  not 
think  much  of  the  sagacity  of  Bras-de-Fer. 

^'Whj/'  said  he,  ^'the  safe  is  right  where  anybody  pass- 
ing can  see  it." 

^'  Certainly,  that  is  the  kind  I  prefer.     It  is  the  easiest.^' 

Frenchy  looked  surprised  and  incredulous. 

^^Ah,  I  see/'  said  Jean.  ^^  You  are  not  learned,  as  you 
have  said  I  am.     Now  look.^^ 

He  took  down  a  square  mirror  from  the  wall  and  placed 
it  behind  one  of  the  legs  of  the  table. 

Any  person  looking,  would  have  thought  he  saw  both 
front  and  hind  legs,  when  really  it  was  only  the  front  legs 
reflected. 

^^Now  do  you  understand?" 

Frenchy  shook  his  head.     He  was  mystified. 

*^  Well,  suppose  I  wanted  to  work  behind  that  table,  and 
did  not  want  to  be  seen,  and  did  not  want  anybody  to 
know^  that  the  table  was  being  used  as  a  screen;  if  I  put 
a  large  mirror  behind  the  two  fore  legs  but  in  front  of  the 
two  hind  ones,  would  not  anybody  suppose  he  could  see 
right  under  the  table  as  well  as  usual? 

^^Of  course;  but  is  there  a  table  in  front  of  the  safe?" 

''  Yes." 

^^  And  a  mirror  large  enough?" 

^^Yes." 

'^ Mo7i  ami,  I  will  also  study  the  banking  system." 

And  Tete-de-Fer  laughed  heartily  at  his  own  joke. 

^^  You  will  be  as  learned  as  I  ^some  day^"  said  Bras-de- 
Fer. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

FRENCHY   STUDIES  THE   BANKING   SYSTEM. 

"  Now,"  said  Jean,  as  he  and  Frenchy  walked  along  to- 
gether one  suitable  night,  ^' after  you  have  gagged  and  tied 
the  janitor,  just  take  a  look  in  his  coat-pocket,  for  I  saw 
him  receive  a  roll  of  bills  this  afternoon." 

''  I'll  not  forget." 

''  But  don^t  phlebotomize  unless  you  must.  It's  no  use 
to  make  him  feel  any  more  than  is  necessary.  I^m  very 
tender-hearted,  you  see. 

Frenchy  laughed. 

^^  Here  we  are.     Quick  now,  after  me  I" 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  53 

Jean  with  a  key  opened  the  side  door  and  vanished  inside, 
followed  by  Frenchy. 

''Now  go  up,  and  whto  you  have  fixed  the  old  man  and 
got  his  money,  give  three  taps  on  the  baluster.  If  you  don't 
get  the  money,  give  one  tap  on  the  bakister  and  two  taps  on 
his  head/' 

Frenchy  crept  up  stairs  to  the  janitor's  room  and  per- 
formed his  work  there  very  creditably. 

But  while  he  was  doing  so  Jean  slipped  out  into  the  street, 
and  four  men  went  quietly  up  stairs. 

In  a  short  time  Frenchy  came  out  of  the  room  and  tapped 
three  times  on  the  baluster. 

A  short  scuffle,  and  Frenchy,  securely  handcuffed,  was 
led  to  the  station-house. 

Frenchy  had  a  good  lawyer,  but,  unfortunately,  had 
been  too  successful  in  the  janitor's  room,  and  there- 
fore, in  default  of  any  political  friends,  he  was  sentenced 
for  ten  years. 

This  gave  him  ample  time  to  study  the  banking  system. 
He  had  not  turned  his  attention  to  that  study  yet,  how- 
ever, when  he  was  visited  in  his  cell  by  a  tall,  dignified  old 
Frenchman. 

'^  Henri  Roche  is  my  name.  Do  you  know  me?  Look 
well.'^ 

Frenchy  looked  sullenly  up  and  answered  gruffly: 

'^'  No,  I  don't  know  you." 

^*  Well,  Tete-de-Fer,  Eobert  Caradoc,  native  of  Brittany, 
I  know  you." 

''  Much  good  may  it  do  you." 

*'  It  may  do  me  good.  We  shall  see.  Would  you  like  a 
voyage  to  England  or  South  America.^  In  fact,  would  you 
like  to  be  free?" 

^^  Does  a  cat  love  milk?". 

'^  You  can  go  free  if  you  will  answer  some  questions  I  will 
ask." 

*'  Better  set  me  free  first  and  ask  afterward/' 

^^Not  such  a  fool  as  that." 

^^  All  right ;  then  I  don't  talk." 

^^  Oh,  yes,  you  will." 

^^  Will  I?    We'll  see." 

^'  Suppose  I  could  prove  two  or  three  murders  of  yours?'^ 

"Suppose  you  could?" 


54 


THE  A^^IERICAN  MARQUIS. 


Frenchy  could  not  prevent  a  little  pallor  coming  to  hisi 
face,  though  he  did  try  to  talk  bravely.  » 

''  I  can.  Do  you  remember  the*young  American  at  Chat- 
eau d^Iberri?^' 

'^  I  didn't  kill  him.     He  got  away.^^ 

^^  How  far  away?'* 

''  I  don't  know.  He  killed  my  two  pals,  stunned  me,  and 
got  away.     He  was  a  devil.'' 


*'WELL,    TETE-DE-FER,     ROBERT    CARADOC,    NATIVE   OF 
BRITAKNY,    I   K2S^0W   YOU." 

^•Well,  he  was  found  dead  on  the  road  the  next  day." 

^a'm  glad  of  that." 

'^  Are  you?  Well,  you  can  hang  for  it.  Also  the  detec- 
tive you  killed.     Will  you  talk?" 

^'What  do  you  want?" 

''  Well,  now,  listen.  You  know  something  I  am  willing 
to  pay  for  in  money,  and  set  you  free,  too.  I  can  do  it.  I 
got  you  in  here,  and  I  can  get  you  out." 


THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS.  55 

Monsieur  Roche  assumed  the  tones  of  Bi'as-de-Fer. 

*'Say,  ami  Tete-de-Fer,  are  you  yet  learned  in  the  bank- 
ing system?^' 

''Mon  Bieu,  a  detective!" 

^'Exactly/' 

^'  If  I  answer  you  will  have  me  set  free?'^ 

^awill/' 

^^Go  on." 

''  How  came  you  to  be  engaged  in  that  Chateau  d'Iberri 
affair?'^ 

"  Very  simple.     I  was  hired/"* 

^*  Who  hired  you?" 

"  I  don^t  know.'' 

"Don't  know?" 

"No;  I  never  saw  him  without  a  mask/' 

"  How  much  were  you  paid?" 

"  Ten  thousand  francs. '' 

"Just  to  kill  the  young  man?'' 

"  Oh,  no;  I  was  to  drive  and  sign  my  name  as  witness  to 
the  marriage." 

"•  Tell  me  about  the  murder.     How  was  it  planned?" 

"At  first  I  was  to  drive  him  part  way  home,  pretend  an 
accident,  have  him  get  out,  and  break  his  skull.  But  the 
young  fellow  and  his  sister  got  the  idea  that  the  American 
suspected  something,  so  he  got  her  to  entice  him  into  an- 
other room  for  a  few  minutes  while  we  fixed  it  for  a  new 
plan." 

The  hands  of  Henri  Eoche  closed  tightly. 

"  We  were  to  lead  him  into  the  garden  and  do  him  there. 
Any  other  man  would  have  given  in,  but  he  was  a  devil. 
How  he  did  fight!" 

"  Are  you  sure  the  woman  knew  of  the  plan  to  murder  the 
American?"  > 

"Know  it?  Of  course  she  did.  Why,  I  can  hear  her 
now  saying,  so  sweet-like,  'Have  you  the  pillow  for  him?' 
meaning  my  club.  Mon  Dieu  !  yes,  she  and  her  brother  had 
it  all  planned." 

"And  you  do  not  know  anything  about  either  of  them, 
their  names  or  looks?  Think.  Five  thousand  francs  for  a 
clew  of  some  sort." 

"  I  could  never  see  his  face  nor  hers,  nor  hear  their  names, 
though  I  tried  hard,  too.  But  wait.  I  did  find  his  hand- 
kerchief— a  silk  one." 


56  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^Find  it?" 

^'  Yes;  found  it  in  his  pocket.     It  had  his  initials  on." 

^^,Ah!     What  were  they?" 

'^  That  is  what  I  don't  remember/' 

*'5And  the  handkerchief?^' 

^'  That  I  gave  my  sister." 

*' And  do  you  think  she  has  it  still?*' 

''  Quite  likely.'' 

"  AVhere  is  she?'' 

' an  Paris." 

^' Where?    What  street?" 

*'  That  cannot  matter  to  you." 

''  It  does  matter,  for  I  must  have  that  handkerchief." 

^"^But  look  you,  monsieur.  I  have  my  own  reasons  for 
keeping  that  secret.  I  will  send  to  her  and  have  her  send 
it  to  me.  You  can  leave  me  here  till  the  answer  comes. 
Only  if  she  has  lost  it  you  must  not  hold   me  accountable." 

"  Well.  But  I  warn  you — no  trifling.  You  know  Bras- 
de-Fer,  but  yoii  don't  know  me." 

''  I  will  be  faithful,  you  may  be  certain.  I'd  rather  have 
five  thousand  francs  than  a  silk  handkerchief." 

''  Let  this  be  the  agreement,  then.  The  day  you  send 
me  word  that  you  have  the  handkerchief  I  will  have  you 
set  free  and  give  you  fifteen  thousand  francs." 

"  Good.     But  if  I  cannot  get  the  handkerchief?" 

'^  If  you  honestly  can't — and  I  will  make  myself  sure  of 
that — you  shall  go  free.     No  money,  though." 

^^  And  where  shall  I  send  word?" 

'^  Suppose  I  come  here  in  two  months?  Will  that  be 
time?" 

•a  think  so." 

^'  Good.  In  two  months  then.  And  do  not  forget  this: 
I  have  long  arms,  and  can  reach  far.  If  you  play  me  any 
trick,  I  will  so  do  to  you  that  you  will  curse  the  hour  you 
were  born." 

Frenchy  believed  Monsieur  Eoche. 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

HIS  FIRST  AJ^D   OWi^  TRUE  LOVE. 

Had  the  acquaintances  of  the  Marquis  dTberri  forgotten 
him?    He  was  not  a  man  to  forget. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  57 

Alphonse  had  almost  daily  looked  for  his  return,  until 
the  family  joined  in  the  usual  summer  flight  from  town, 
when  he  went  too,  and  gave  up  hope  of  ever  seeing  him 
again  in  America. 

He  did  not  know  the  magnet  that  drew  the  marquis,  or 
he  would  not  have  despaired. 

The  summer  was  still  young  when  the  marquis  ar- 
rived at  the  gay  watering-place  where  the  Howards  were 
sojourning. 

He  was  at  the  same  hotel. 

The  first  morning  he  sat  in  his  room,  talking  to  himself. 

^^  Yes,  I  am  here.  I  could  not  stay  away.  I  have  two 
months  of  respite,  and  for  that  time  I  will  be  human. 
After  that  if  I  am  fortunate — bah,  how  can  I  be?  Only  a 
handkerchief.^' 

^^Well,  never  mind  what  comes  then;  for  these  two 
months,  come  what  will,  I  shall  be  happy.  Only  I  must 
beware  that  my  tongue  betray  not  my  heart.^^ 

^^  Ah!     I  wonder  if  she  even  remembers  me?'^ 

^*Why,  marquis,  is  it  indeed  you?  We  had  thought  you 
were  not  pleased  with  America  and  had  hurried  back  to 
France.  ^^ 

Frankly  the  little  hand  was  put  in  his,  honestly  the  blue 
eyes  looked  into  his  gray  ones,  gayly  the  cherry  lips  smiled 
over  the  white  teeth. 

If  a  blush  or  two  played  hide-and-seek  on  her  soft,  round 
cheeks  when  she  searched  the  depths  of  his  speaking  eyes, 
why  it  was  not  the  marquis  who  was  going  to  find  fault. 

''America!'^  he  exclaimed.  ^^ Truly,  that  first  night 
I  did  not  know  I  was  in  it.  I  thought  I  had  made  a  mis- 
take and  fallen  into  Paradise.^' 

"  Oh,  fie!  Marquis,  such  compliments  do  not  please  me. 
Save  them  for  somebody  else.^^ 

^'  Pardon  me.  It,  was  not  intended  as  a  compliment.  I 
was  betrayed  into  telling  what  I  really  felt.-"^ 

^' There,  there!  that^s  no  better — worse,  rather.  Now 
let  us  talk  of  something  sensible.  What  have  you  been 
doing?'' 

'^  What!  talk  of  me?  Do  you  call  that  a  sensible  topic? 
Nay;  let  us  talk  of  something  beautiful.  How  have  you 
been  T' 

''I  shall  speak  English,  if  you  will  persist,'^ 


58  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

''  I  do  believe  you  could  make  even  English  sound 
SAveet.'-" 

'"  At  the  next  speech  like  that  I  shall  run/^ 

^'Don^t  do  that;  and  if  you  will  not  believe  in  my  sin- 
cerity, lay  it  to  the  fact  that  I  have  lost  my  wits  in  the 
pelasure  of  seeing  you  again/^ 

'^  Will  you  find  them  if  I  leave  you?^^ 

"  Indeed,  no.  It  is  only  by  being  near  you  that  I  can 
save  them.^^ 

It  is  folly  to  repeat  the  words  of  lovers;  so  let  them  be 
untold. 

But  were  they  lovers? 

Everybody  said  so.  Alphonse  took  it  for  granted,  called 
on  the  Marquis  d^Iberri,  and  borrowed  money  of  him. 

The  marquis  knew  he  was  in  love.  He  knew  he  lived  in 
it.     He  knew  she  did  not  repel  him.    • 

Was  she  in  love?  Well,  she  was  melancholy  when  he 
was  not  by  her  side,  and  she  was  a  picture  of  happiness 
when  he  was. 

When  she  saw  him  coming  her  eyes  lifted  up  and  a  glad 
smile  played  on  her  sweet  mouth. 

Perhaps  she  thought  he  did  not  love  her. 

Perhaps  she  did  not  know  that  he  worshiped  her. 

Perhaps  she  wondered  that  he  did  not,  in  so  many  words, 
say  ^''I  love  you/'  \ 

Possibly  he  was  in  doubt  about  her  feeling  for  him. 

Possibly  he  did  not  suspect  that  he  was  her  ideal  of  man- 
hood. 

Possibly  it  was  not  on  his  tongue^s  end  fifty  times  a  day 
to  say  -^I  love  you.'^ 

Perhaps,  and  possibly. 

Mrs.  Howard  was  satisfied,  Alphonse  was  satisfied. 

The  truth  was,  Grace  was  not  to  be  interfered  with;  and 
had  any  w^ord  been  spoken  by  anybody  about  the  relation- 
ship of  the  majxjuis  to  her,  it  would  have  been  discovered 
that  she  could  be  trusted  to  take  care  of  herself. 

The  love  was  understood,  but  not  spoken. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  59 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

WHEiT  THE   FLOOD-GATES   OF   LOVE  WERE   OPENED. 

As  the  happy  weeks  flew  by^  and  the  time  narrowed  down 
to  within  a  few  days  of  when  the  marquis  must  keep  his 
appointment  with  Tete-de-Fer,  the  young  man  became 
restless,  and  totally  unlike  his  well-contained  self. 

It  was  useless  for  him  to  evade  the  issue  before  him. 

He  might,  indeed,  declare  his  love,  and  make  Grace  his 
wife,  for  he  was  confident  that  she  would  consent. 

He  knew  the  masked  woman  could  never  recognize  him, 
even  if  she  dared  to  avow  herself. 

Nevertheless,  he  could  not  for  one  moment  contemplate 
the  thought  of  deceiving  the  pure,  confiding  Grace. 

How  two  such  conflicting  sentiments  as  his  love  and 
his  bitter  hate  could  find  room  in.  the  same  breast,  would 
have  been  impossible  to  comprehend,  were  it  not  for  the  fact 
that  it  was  only  by  the  satisfaction  of  his  Vengeful  hate  that 
he  coukl  dare  to  indulge  in  his  love. 

Hours  he  spent  in  the  darkness  and  solitude  of  his  cham- 
ber, wrestling  with  his  fate. 

Could  he  leave  Grace,  and  devote  months,  or  years, 
maybe,  to  the  pursuit  of  vengeance,  without  saying  to  her 
one  word  of  love? 

Could  he  tell  her  the  truth,  and  ask  her  to  wait  for 
him? 

Tell  that  innocent,  gentle  girl  of  all  the  treachery,  blood, 
and  hate  in  which  he  had  been  an  actor! 

Tell  her  that  he  would  have  her  wait  for  him  until  he 
could  compass  the  death  of  a  woman! 

What  then? 

'^^  Deceive  her,  or  tell  her? 

Speak  his  love,  or  leave  it  unspoken  V 

To  leave  it  unspoken  would  now  be  dishonorable. 

To  speak  it  when  he  was  bound  to  another  woman  would 
be  even  worse. 


60  THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS. 

Why  not  give  her  up?  Why  not  tear  loose  from  this  great 
love  which  so  enthralled  him? 

Give  her  up? 

The  very  thought  made  him  turn  with  savage  fury  to  the 
picture  of  the  vile  creature  who  could  plot  his  murder,  and 
in  the  same  instant  lavish  on  him  sach  kisses  and  caresses 
as  melted  his  very  soul  into  hers. 

And  yet,  even  then,  he  loved  this  sweet  Grace  of  his. 
Even  then  he  was  as  much  her  mad  worshiper  as  now. 

Was  he  unlike  other  men,  that  he  should  start  from  his 
dream  of  love  for  an  angel  of  purity,  and  fling  himself,  with 
hot  words  and  passionate  impulse,  into  the  arms  of  the  first 
seductive  siren  who  crooked  her  finger  at  him? 

Was  this  love  that  was  in  him,  or  was  it  insanity? 

"  Great  Heaven?'^  he  exclaimed;  *^  what  is  it?  What  am 
I?     Who  was  she?     Whence  this  sudden  power  over  me?^^ 

Over  and  over  he  trod  the  same  ground. 

At  one  moment  his  gray  eyes  were  blazing  with  the  fires 
of  hate;  at  another  melting  with  lovers  soft  light. 

One  by  one  the  days  went  by,  stopping  neither  for  his 
love  nor  his  hate. 

And  as  each  day  passed,  and  another  came,  Clinton  won- 
dered he  was  not  mad. 

And  each  morning,  as  jaded  and  weary,  he  found  himself 
irresistibly  drawn  toward  the  object  of  his  love,  he  would 
say  to  himself: 

''  This  shall  be  the  last  time.     To-morrow  I  will  go.^^ 

And  the  moment  her  soft  blue  eyes  searched  his;  the  mo- 
ment her  sweet  voice  bade  him  welcome;  the  moment  her 
little  hand  rested  confidingly  in  his,  that  moment  he  was 
lost  to  everything  but  her  love  and  his. 

Was  his  love? 

AVell,  be  it  love  or  madness,  it  controlled  him,  strong- 
willed  man  as  he  was,  as  if  he  had  been  a  nerveless  child. 

Three  days  he  had  yet. 

And  Clinton,  at  midnight,  after  one  of  his  terrible  battles 
with  himself,  sat,  asking  himself: 

^' What  shall  I  do  then?  To-morrow,  and  the  next  day, 
and  the  next.  Shall  I  be  dead?  Shall  I  be  chained  up  in 
a  mad-house,  a  raving  maniac?  Shall  I  dishonor  myself 
and  her  by  asking  her  to  be  my  wife?  My  wife!  oh,  hideous 
mockery!  My  leman!  Woman!  fiend!  I  could  tear  you 
limb  from  limb,  had  I  you  in  my  clutches!'^ 


THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS.  61 

^^Fire!  fire!'^  came  a  sudden,  hoarse  cry. 

Clinton  shook  himself,  as  if  to  throw  off  the  sea  of  passion 
in  which  he  had  been  plunged. 

More  cries,  and  a  confused  sound  of  hurrying  feet. 

Clinton  listened. 

Probably  the  hotel  was  on  fire. 

^*'Well/^  he  smiled,  grimly,   *^  fate  points  the  w^ay.     Let 
the  fire  come,     i  will  wait  for  it.^^ 

He  sat  down  by  the  window,  and  calmly  looked  out. 

The  red  flames  must  have  already  burst  out.  Clinton 
could  see  crowds  of  people,  in  night  raiment,  hurrying  to 
and  fro  on  the  lawn  in  front. 

There  seemed  to  be  few  or  no  facilities  for  meeting  the 
fire-fiend. 

Every  man  giving  vain  orders,  every  woman  and  child 
screaming. 

Mothers  crying  for  children,  given  in  charge  of  hired 
nurses;  children  crying  for  nurses. 

Panic  and  confusion. 

Clinton  smiled  bitterly,  and  never  moved.  Then  a'^ten- 
der  thought  filled  his  heart. 

^' Ah,  Grace,  my  darling!  You  wull  never  know  that  my 
last  thoughts  were  of  you.  Would  I  could  have  lived  to 
make  you  happy!  But  that  may  not  be.  Fate  has  other- 
wise ordained.     My  blessing  be  with  yoil,    and    may  you 

live .     Ah!  but  will  she  live?     Great  Heaven!  she,  too, 

is  in  danger!  Dog  that  you  are!  Besotted  in  self!  Calmly 
talking  of  dying  when  she  may  be  in  all  the  agonies  of 
fear  and  danger  !^^ 

It  may  be  believed  that  Clinton  did  not  sit  still  and 
deliver  this  apostrophe  to  himself. 

The  moment  the  thought  of  danger  came  to  him,  he 
sprang  from  his  seat,  and  plunged  down  stairs. 

Through  flames,  smoke,  and  burning  timbers,  he  rushed. 

He  knew  her  rooms  well.  He  must  first  go  out  in  order 
to  reach  them. 

Out  he  darted  into  the  night  air;  into  the  pandemo- 
nium there. 

Nothing  of  this  did  he  see  or  feel. 

Fiercely  on  he  flew  to  the  stair-way  leading  to  her 
rooms. 

*^Ah,  DTberri!  have  you  seen  Grace ?^' 

It  was  Alphonse. 


62  THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS. 

Clinton  threw  him  oS  as  if  he  had  been  a  fly. 
Grace    was    in  danger,    then.      She   was  not    with  her 
brother. 

The  flames  were  bursting  forth  at  the  very  door  he  must 
enter. 

''  I  can  die  with  her,  at  least. '^ 

He  dashed  toward  the  door. 

A  crowd  of  men  tried  to  bar  his  way. 

''  OutT'  he  cried,  with  a  howl  like  a  madman. 

The  men  were  flung  off  like  children. 

Into  the  flames,  and  through  them. 

Up  the  burning  stairs,  the  charred  and  blazing  steps 
breaiving  under  his  feet. 

Through  the  winding  corridors,  half-choked  with  thick 
smoke. 

Up  another  flight. 

Around,  and  up  again. 

''  She  must  be  safe  yet,^^  he  muttered.  '^  The  fire  is 
mostly  down  stairs. ^^ 

At  her  room  door  at  last. 

The  door  fell  in  like  a  sheet  of  paper  before  his  mighty 
strength. 

But  just  arisen,  still  in  her  night-robes,  Grace  stood  be- 
fore him,  the  wild  firelight  showing  her  great  blue  eyes 
filled  with  half-wonderment,   half-fear. 

''  Grace,  my  own  darling!     It  is  not  too  late  then!^^ 

A  sweet  smile  broke  upon  her  lips. 

She  looked  like  a  little  child,  or  like  an  angel  from 
heaven,  as  she  stood  in  the  midst  of  all  that  horrid  danger, 
in  her  pure  white  robe,  and  with  that  smile  of  joy  and  con- 
fidence on  her  face. 

•  ^  The  hotel  is  on  fire?^'  she  queried. 

"Yes.^^ 

Clinton  answered  shortly,  for  he  was  busied  in  saturating 
with  water  a  blanket  which  he  had  snatched  from  the  foot 
of  the  bed. 

He  wound  it  about  her,  covering  even  her  head  and  face. 
There  was  no  time  for  explanation.  None  was  needed;  she 
yielded  herself  to  him  with  a  composure  and  a  confidence  that 
even  then  filled  him  with  a  fierce  joy. 

She  could  trust  him  so  much  then. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAEQUIS.  63 

He  would  have  marveled  at  her  composure,  had  he  not  re- 
joiced in  it. 

She  was  no  weight  for  his  strong  arms,  but  he  trembled  as 
lie  took  the  precious  burden  up. 

Out  again,  swiftly  but  carefully. 

The  devouring  flames  had  crept  up  after  him,  and  were 
even  now  thrusting  their  forked  tongues  through  the  boards 
of  the  corridor. 

The  wliole  of  the  lower  part  of  the  house  was  a  blazing 
mass;  the  stairs  had  fallen  in. 

The  roof  was  the  only  refuge. 

Up,  up  he  climbed. 

Instinct  seemed  to  tell  him  where  the  roof  ladder  was. 

Once  on  the  roof  he  looked  about  him. 

The  flames  were  nowhere  visible. 

If  he  could  but  reach  the  edge!  He  knew  the  main  build- 
ing was  flanked  by  wings  with  lower  roofs. 

They  might  not  yet  have  caught  fire. 

He  dragged  the  ladder  after  him. 

He  pulled  aside  the  blanket  from  Grace's  face  to  give 
her  fresh  air. 

''Courage,  darling!  We  may  yet  be  safe.  You  trust 
me?'* 

She  smiled. 

^an  life  or  death.'' 

Clinton  groaned. 

Must  such  love  as  this,  with  all  its  future  of  bliss,  be 
lost  ! 

Grace  clasped  tightly  to  his  breast  by  one  strong  arm,  the 
ladder  lightly  carried  in  the  other  hand,  Clinton  sped  to- 
ward the  right  wing. 

'^Oh,  Heaven  r 

Almost  under  his  feet  the  roof  collapsed,  fell  in,  and  was 
ingulfed  in  the  yawning  abyss  of  flame. 

Back  he  turned. 

Ah!  would  he  reach  the  other  end  in  safety? 

Was  that  a  red  tongue  of  flame? 

^'Heaven!''  he  moaned. 

^'I  cannot  die  now.    I  will  not!" 

Almost  there! 

Crash! 

Fifty  feet  of  leaping  flame  between  him  and  the  towering 
wall  beyond. 


64  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

Behind  him  flames!  Before  him  flames!  On  either  side 
sixty  feet  to  the  groTind! 

''Grace,  darling!^' 

Her  eyes  were  on  his  face.  They  had  not  yet  looked 
elsewhere. 

He  put  her  on  her  feet,  still  holding  her  close  to  him. 

'^  I  think  we  shall  die  here."^ 

She  assented  with  a  nod. 

Her  face  was  pale  but  that  was  all. 

She  seemed  to  read  his  heart  with  her  eyes. 

"  You  know  I  love  you/^  he  said. 

She  answered  with  her  eyes,  and  drew  closer  to  him, 

A  fearful  sob  shook  him. 

'^  And  you  do  not  fear  death  with  me?^* 

^a  pray  for  it.'' 

The  words  were  whispered,  but  the  sweet  voice  was  firm. 

He  bent  over  her. 

The  hungry  flames  were  almost  licking  their  feet.  Shrieks 
of  agony,  wails  of  despair,  the  crashing  of  fallen  timber,  the 
mad  roaring  of  the  angry  fire — all  filled  the  air  with  a  con- 
fusion of  terrible  sounds. 

He  bent  over  her. 

She  looked  up. 

Their  lips  met. 

The  roof  under  them  swayed  and  rocked,  the  flames  in 
mad  glee  advanced  and  retreated;  the  towering  wall  before 
them  tottered,  crumbled,  crashed. 

The  roof  slid  slowly  down  into  the  beckoning  flames. 

The  lovers  looked  at  each  other. 

Their  eyes  were  the  mirrors  of  their  hearts. 

They  were  happy. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

BEYOND     THE     FIRB. 

Down,  down,  sank  the  roof. 
Grace  was  now  in  Clinton's  close  embrace. 
The  useless  ladder  lay  by  his  side. 

It  was  hard  to  give  up  the  world  so  young,  but  they  looked 
happy  and  contented. 

Down,  down  sank  their  unstable  platform. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  65 

When  would  the  hot  flames  wrap  them  in  its  withering 
arms? 

A  sudden  jar! 

It  had  caught  against  some  yet  standing  wall. 

They  were  floating  in  a  sea  of  fire. 

Clinton  looked  up. 

In  sinking  down  the  roof  had  also  swept  forward  and  had 
come  nearer  the  roof  of  the  wing,  with  which  it  was  now 
almost  on  a  level. 

A  flash  of  hope  shot  through  Clinton's  heart. 

Would  the  ladder  reach  across? 

It  was  a  wild  thought! 

With  the  energetic  man,  to  think  and  to  act  were  one. 

One  quick,  powerful  toss  of  the  ladder  and  both  ends  rested 
on  firm  supports. 

Firm  for  how  long? 

Never  mind — it  was  death,  anyhow. 

A  fragile,  precarious  bridge  over  a  yawning  chasm  of 
death! 

Could  he  accomplish  the  journey  in  safety? 
•     Clinton  asked  himself  no  such  question. 

Life  and  happiness — with  Grace  on  his  bosom  he  thought 
of  nothing  else — lay  on  the  other  side. 

He  was  half  way  over,  stepping  swiftly,  cautiously  from 
round  to  round. 

The  roof  behind  began  to  sink  again. 

Quick,  Clinton,  quick! 

They  are  safe. 

Yes,  safe  upon  the  other  roof,  and  comparatively  out  of 
danger. 

*'  Grace,  my  own  sweet  love,  life  lies  before  us  now.  Can 
you  say  again,  with  your  own  dear  lips  this  time,  that  you 
love  me?" 

But  Grace  was  unconscious. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  flight  to  the  city  in  borrowed 
garments,  in  order  that  the  burned  wardrobes  might  be  re- 
newed. 

Each  day  Clinton  saw  Grace  for  but  a  short  time  only, 
passing  the  remainder  of  the  time  in  restless  pacing  of  his 
room  or  midnight  prowling  of  the  streets. 

He  had  told  his  love  when  death  seemed  at  his  elbow ; 
and  now  that  life  was  his,  his  soul  was  tortured  by  remorse. 

When  he  was  with  her  he  forgot ;  when  he  left  her  fleet- 


66  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

footed  memory  overtook  his  conscience  and  anguish  gnawed 
his  heart. 

An  end  there  must  be  to  this. 

He  would  keep  his  appointment  with  Tete-de-Fer. 

'•  Who  knows/'  he  caught  at  a  floating  straw  of  nope. 

**He  may  not  have  the  handkerchief.  And  then — and 
then " 

Well,  what  then? 

Would  that  blot  out  the  past?  Would  that  make  him  a 
free  man? 

Perhaps  not,  but  he  would  not  plan  until  he  knew. 

He  bade  Grace  good-by,  saying  he  might  be  gone  a  day 
or  a  week,  he  could  not  tell,  but  he  would  write  daily. 

She  kissed  him,  and  he  went. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   INITIALS. 

The  impassive  Monsieur  Eoche  stood  in  the  cell  with 
Tete-de-Fer. 

*'Well?''  was  all  he  said. 

**  Here,  ^' replied  the  man  joyously,  drawing  forth  a 
package. 

With  steady  hands  Monsieur  Eoche  opened  the  package, 
and  took  out  a  white  silk  handkerchief,  almost  new. 

**It  has  not  been  used  much,"  he  said. 

He  avoided  looking  at  the  initials  in  one  corner. 

*'No,  my  sister  has  kept  it  carefully,  almost  as  if  she 
knew  its  value." 

**  This  is  the  handkerchief  you  stole  from  the  man?" 

*' Found,  if  monsieur  pleases,'^  said  Tete-de-Fer,  with  an 
attempt  at  pleasantry. 

''I  suppose,"  said  Monsieur  Eoche,  coldly,  '*a  theft  is  a 
joke  to  a  murderer.^^ 

Tete-de-Fer  joked  no  more  with  his  visitor. 

Monsieur  Roche  turned  the  handkerchief  in  his  hands,  and 
looked  at  the  initials. 

What  did  he  dread? 

Did  he  fear  he  would  learn  too  much  from  that  silent 
witness? 

Perhaps;  but  he  looked. 

^*  G.  A./^  he  murmured. 


THE  AiVIEEIOAN  MAEQUIS.  67 

And  a  sigh  of  relief  broke  from  him. 

Without  thinking  he  knew  the  initials  revealed  nothing. 

Had  he  not  met  Grace  he  would  have  cursed  his  luck  that 
so  much  time  and  expense  had  come  to  so  little. 

Now  he  was  glad. 

Why? 

It  did  not  bring  him  nearer  his  happiness. 

No,  but  it  deferred  the  day  when  he  must  act. 

Theenergy  lent  by  hate  had  left  him.  It  was  love  now 
that  filled  his  soul,  and  it  was  rather  despair  than  energy  that 
urged  him  on. 

He  was  glad  to  put  the  evil  out  of  sight — behind  him  any- 
how. 

Let  him  enjoy  his  love  yet  awhile. 

His  heart  cried  out  for  peace. 

The  furious  bursts  of  passionate  anger  which  had  over- 
whelmed him  formerly  at  the  thought  of  the  wicked  woman 
who  had  ruined  his  life,  did  not  come  any  more. 

The  pure  love  of  a  true  woman  had  triumphed,  and  since 
the  night  of  the  fire  he  hated  no  more. 

He.  despaired. 

*^  These  initials  tell  me  nothing.'^ 

^^  Perhaps  not,  monsieur;  but  they  are  a  clew.  Besides, 
I  warned  you  that  it  was  only  as  you  see." 

Tete-de-Fer  was  alarmed  lest  his  visitor  should  repudiate 
his  part  of  the  contract. 

^^Have  no  fear.  You  shall  be  free,  and  you  shall  have 
the  money. ^^ 

^'Fifteen  thousand  francs?^* 

^^Yes." 

'^  And  when  shall  I  be  free?'^ 

''  To-day  or  to-morrow.  Soon  anyhow.  Your  convic- 
tion was  a  mistake.  The  man  you  robbed  was  a  detective, 
the  money  was  bad,  you  were  only  a  tool.^' 

"  Then  I  have  been  tricked  and  played  with," 

Tete-de-Fer  was  furious,  and  made  as  if  to  rush  at  his 
visitor. 

^^Keep  cool,  amii  Eemember  I  am  Bras-de-Fer.  Be- 
sides, you  are  not  free  yet,  and  if  I  wished  to  keep  you,  I 
have  yet  a  few  murders  on  hand  that  were  real.  I  needed 
you,  and  I  used  you.  If  I  need  you  again,  I  will  use  you 
again,  and  you  shall  never  escape  me.^^ 


68  THE  AAIEBICAN  MAKQUlS. 

Tete-de-Fer  believed  Monsieur  Eoche.  He  believed 
usually  when  that  gentleman  spoke  in  that  tone. 

Perhaps  the  iron  arm  was  an  argument,  too.  But  what- 
ever the  cause,  Tete-de-Fer  had  a  profound  respect  for,  and 
believed  in.  Monsieur  Eoche. 

''  How  shall  I  be  free,  then?^^  he  asked,  humbly. 

'^  Your  lawyer  will  get  out  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus  when 
he  knows  the  facts,  and  that  will  be  to-day.  Then  your 
case  will  be  reviewed,  and  you  will  be  free. 

*' And  the  money  ?'^ 

'^  The  day  you  are  free  go  to  Dan  Hartley,  the  detective, 
and  he  will  give  it  to  you.  I  will  pay  your  lawyers 
charges. 

''Thanks,  monsieur;  you  will  not  forget?" 

He  meant  to  say  ^^yoa  will  not  play  me  false/^  but  did 
not  dare. 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

THE   li^ITIALS   ONCE   MORE. 

Never  had  the  Marquis  dTberri  been  more  gay  and  joyous 
than  when  he  rejoined  Grace,  and  with  her  and  her  aunt 
and  her  brother  set  out  for  the  country. 

A  more  quiet  spot  than  the  fashionable  watering-place 
was  selected,  considerably  to  the  disgust  of  Alphonse,  who 
loved  the  crowd  and  all  it  meant. 

He  played  the  elder  brother  dutifully  for  a  time — a  week, 
perhaps — and  then  excusing  himself  to  his  sister  and  aunt, 
who  seemed  glad  to  be  rid  of  him,  he  borrowed  som.e  more 
money  of  the  marquis  and  left. 

Clinton  was  not  sorry  to  have  him  go,  for  he  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  the  profligate  pleasure  which  Alphonse  most  en- 
joyed, and  yet  for  Grace's  dear  sake  he  would  not  treat  her 
brother  other  than  politely. 

He  had  put  every  consideration  likely  to  give  him  pain 
out  of  sight. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  as  matters  were  he  could 
do  no  more. 

He  would  not  give  himself  up  to  an  idle  pursuit  of  a  clew 
that  led  him  nowhere. 

Happy  he  would  be  now,  without  a  single  qualm.     By 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 


e9 


and  by  he  could  uncover  his  sorrow.  Then  would  be  time 
enough  to  contemplate  it  and  his  future. 

And  it  was  easy  to  forget  with  Grace  ever  at  his  side. 

She  said  little  of  her  love,  but  he  could  read  it  in  every 
breath  she  drew,  every  beat  of  her  heart. 

Often  he  would  look  up  and  find  her  eyes  fixed  wistfully 
on  him  as  if  studying  his  inmost  nature. 

*'  Well,  little  woman,  what  do  you  see  on  my  heart ?^^ 


^^  GRACE,  DARLING,"  HE   SAID,  ONE  DAY,    *^I  HAVE  A 
CONFESSION  TO  MAKE.'' 

The  wistful  look  would  change  into  a  bright  glance  of 
answering  love.     ' 

*^0h,''  she  might  reply,  *^it's  written  all  over  with  ^I 
love  you  T  '' 

''So  it  is,  my  Grace,  and  everything  else  is  crowded 
out/' 

''  Grace  darling,"  he  said,  one  day,  ''I  have  a  confession 
to  make." 


70  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

The  color  died  out  of  her  cheeks,  and  a  pleading  look 
filled  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  alarming/'  he  laughed,  ^^  so  don't  look 
so  frightened." 

*^  Did  I  look  frightened?" 

^^  Indeed  you  did.  You  made  me  think  of  the  descrip- 
tion IVe  seen  in  story-books  about  a  wounded  doe  at  bay." 

^^  I  don't  like  confessions,'^  she  faltered;  *^  they  suggest 
such  possibilities." 

Clinton  turned  pale  at  this. 

He  thought  of  the  possibilities  of  a  confession  he  could 
make  if  he  chose. 

^*^Ah,  well,  little  woman,"  he  said,  recovering  himself, 
''  this  confession  is  full  of  pleasant  possibilities." 

'^I'm  foolish,  dear,"  she  said,  brightly.  *^Come,  make 
me  this  confession." 

*' Let  me  see.  J  must  go  back  three  years  and  a  half. 
I  was  in  Brest,  in  Upper  Britanny.     Were  you  ever  there?" 

*'Yes,"  wonderingly,  ^^Why,  it  was  just  about  three 
years  and  a  half  ago!" 

^'  Were  you  there  then?    How  strange!" 

Clinton  affected  great  astonishment. 

^^  Yes,  and  you  knew  it,  too.  Come,  now,  you  naughty 
boy,  confess  in  good  earnest." 

*^  Well,  I  will,  then.  When  I  was  in  Brest  I  saw  a  lady — 
a  rather  young  lady — driving  by.  I  only  saw  her  face, 
but,  Grace,  I  fell  straightway  in  love  with  her;  and,  Grace, 
I  never  got  over  it." 

^^Why,  Honore!" 

Grace  held  his  face  in  her  two  little  hands,  and  looked 
lovingly  into  his  eyes. 

>MVhy,  Honore!" 

It  was  the  name  he  had  adopted. 

*^And  you  have  really  and  truly  loved  me  all  this  time?' 

'^  Really  and  truly,  I  loved  you  the  moment  I  saw  your 
face.  That  is  why  I  started  so  when  I  first  saw  you  iu 
New  York." 

^^  I  remember  that  night.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  remem- 
ber it?" 

''  Please?" 

^'Because  that  was  the  time  I  fell  in  love  with  you;  and 
I  never  got  over  it,"  she  said,  repeating  his  words  in  sweet 
mockery. 


THE  AMERICAN  ]VURQUIS.  71 

Clinton  was  radiant.     He  exclaimed: 

^'  Then  I  was  your  first  and  only  love.  Just  as  you  were 
my  first  and  only  love?'^ 

Involuntarily  he  winced  as  he  spoke. 

The  words  *'  only  love"  called  up  the  passionate  scene  in 
the  square  chamber. 

She  did  not  notice  his  start. 

She  did  not  answer  him. 

She  put  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked  him  long  and 
lovingly  in  the  eyes. 

It  was  answer  enough, 

''  What  a  pretty  picture  !'* 

It  was  Alphonse  who  spoke.     He  had  just  come  up. 

''By  my  word,  marquis,  if  I  were  an  artist  I  would  make 
a  picture  like  that.  All  the  lovers  would  like  it,  and  I, 
without  liking  it,  should  be  famous.*^ 

It  was  a  poor  jest;  but  it  pleased  Alphonse,  and  he  laughed 
at  it. 

Clinton  thought  it  was  coarse,  and  frowned. 

*'  When  she  is  my  wife,^^  he  thought,  and  stopped. 

He  did  not  allow  himself  to  think  of  that  yet;  but  what 
he  intended  to  think  was,  that  when  she  was  his  wife  the 
brother  should  be  kept  at  a  distance. 

At  present,  however,  he  must  treat  him  well,  if  not 
cordially. 

The  talk  soon  became  general,  and  drifted  to  the  de- 
lightful topic  of  Alphonse  Gorinot  and  what  he  had  been 
doing. 

Delightful  at  least  to  Alphonse;  and  he  talked  in  his 
light,  careless  way  until  he  was  tired — and  they,  too. 

''How  very  warm,^^  he  remarked,  finally. 

Making  some  show  of  interest,  Clinton  answered. 

"  Yes.^^ 

And  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  handkerchief. 

It  was  not  there. 

He  looked  around. 

It  was  lying  near  Alphonse,  who  was  fanning  himself  with 
his  own. 

Clinton  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face,  and  looked 
bored. 

Grace  sympathized  with  him,  and  proposed  returning  to 
the  house.     They  did  so. 

When  Clinton  dressed  for  dinner  he  laid  his  handker- 


72  THE  A^MERIOAN  MARQUIS. 

chief  on  the  bureau.  When  he  took  it  up  again,  he  noticed 
that  it  was  differently  marked  from  his. 

His  had  been  marked  in  silk  by  Grace^s  dainty  fingers. 

Looking  at  it  more  closely  to  see  what  initials  they  were, 
he  uttered  a  cry,  and  angrily  threw  it  from  him. 

^*  I  thought  I  had  laid  that  away  so  that  I  should  not  see 
it  again  until  I  was  ready. ^^ 

The  initials  were  Gr.  A. 

He  walked  up  and  down  his  room  until  he  had  in  a 
measure  overcome  the  feelings  which  the  unfortunate  in- 
itials had  aroused,  and  then  opened  his  trunk,  took  out  a 
small  tin  box,  and  unlocked  it. 

"I  intended  to  put  that  in  here,  and  thought  I  had/^ 

He  opened  the  box. 

There,  carefully  folded  up,  lay  a  handkerchief. 

Clinton  had  evidently  made  a  mistake. 

**  Is  there  a  fate  in  it  that  will  not  let  me  forget  ?^^  he 
asked  himself,  sadly. 

He  took  out  the  handkerchief,  carelessly  shook  it  out,  and 
glanced  mechanically  at  the  initials. 

^MVhatr 

He  looked  at  the  other  handkerchief. 

^^  Heavens  r 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

Looked  again. 

''  How  came  I  by  two  such?^^ 

Again  he  examined  them.  There  could  be  no  mis- 
take. 

The  initials  were  the  same. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

WHAT   ^*G.    A.*^  STOOD  FOR. 

''What  could  it  mean?    What  did  it  mean?" 
These  two  questions  Clinton  asked  himself  over  and  over, 
and  still  could  find  no  answer. 

The  perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  his  forehead. 

Was  it  a  message  from  Heaven — a  reminder  of  his  duty? 

Was  it  a  trick  to  mislead  him? 

Was  he  known  and  watched  ? 

Had  he  deceived  himself  in  supposing  that  Clinton  Hast- 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAEQUIS.  73 

ings,  the  poor  artist,  could  not  be  recognized  in  the  wealthy 
Honore  Beanmartin,  the  Marquis  d'Iberri? 

He  looked  in  the  mirror. 

Clinton  Hastings'  face  had  been  covered  with  a  long  brown 
beard. 

The  Marquis  d'Iberri  had  a  face  as  smooth  as  a  child's. 
It  was  kept  so  by  constant  shaving. 

Had  the  beard  been  a  mask,  it  could  not  have  disguised 
him  more. 

"  No,  he  did  not  deceive  himself;  he  was  unrecognizable. 

Up  and  down  -the  room  he  paced,  going  over  the  same 
ground  again  and  again,  until  the  sound  of  the  bell  startled 
him  from  his  unhappy  dream. 

He  hurried  down  stairs  to  find  Grace  anxiously  waiting 
for  him  on  the  veranda. 

Usually  it  was  he  who  waited  for  her. 

His  face  showed  the  perturbation  of  his  mind,  and  Grace 
noticed  it. 

All  traces  of  his  emotion  died  away  ere  he  had  fairly 
reached  her  side,  but  the  unwonted  expression  troubled 
her. 

^*Is  anything  the  matter,  dear?*' 

^'Nothing,  darling — that  is,  nothing  of  any  consequence, 
now  that  I  have  you  by  my  side.'' 

He  looked  fondly  at  her. 

''  Do  you  know,  Grace  dear,"  he  said,  a  moment  later, 
*^  that  to  me  you  are  like  one  of  the  sirens  in  the  fable; 
the  sound  of  your  voice  so  entrances  me  that  I  forget  every- 
thing else  but  you.  A  little  while  ago  I  was  very  much 
troubled,  but  the  moment  you  looked  at  me  and  said  in 
that  sweet  voice  of  yours,  ^Honore,'  I  forgot  all  my 
troubles. " 

''  I  am  glad,  dear,  if  I  help  you  so.  I  hope  it  will  always 
be  the  same." 

''  Oh,  it  will,  my  darling,  it  will.  How  can  it  be  other- 
wise? It  is  not  only  your  voice.  A  touch  of  your  little 
hand,  a  glance  of  your  loving  eye,  the  rustle  of  your  gown 
even,  anything  by  you  or  of  you,  acts  like  magic  with  me. 

'*  I  think,"  he  went  on,  with  a  loving  smile,  '^  that  you 
must  be  my  fate,  I  am  so  completely  swallowed  up  in  you. 
I  think  my  soul  lives  in  your  body,  and  that  you  are  my 
heaven." 

^*  You  do  love  me  very  much,  do  you  not?" 


74  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

The  pleading  tenderness  in  her  voice,  and  the  wistful 
questioning  in  her  glance  upward  at  him,  made  Clinton 
long  to  hold  her  in  his  arms  and  rain  kisses  on  her  sweet 
lips. 

But  there  were  too  many  spectators,  and  he  had  to  content 
himself  with  a  furtive  pressure  of  her  hand  and  the  spoken 
assurance. 

^*My  darling,  I  do  not  believe  your  own  loving  heart  ever 
can  comprehend  what  my  heart  feels.  It  is  not  only  a  love 
that  would  make  me  die  for  you.  That  would  be  noth- 
ing. It  is  a  blind  infatuation,  an  insane  worship.  You 
are  my  deity.  Beyond  you  I  cannot  see.  You  are  the  end 
of  mv  life.^'' 

^^Oh,  Honorer 

She  seemed  a  little  frightened. 

^'  Was  it  too  vehement,  darling? 

^^  I  was  fearful  lest  you  should  some  day  wake  from  your 
dream  and  find  that  I  am  only  clay  after  all,  and  that  may- 
be you  would  not  love  me  so  well  then.^^ 

''  Have  no  such  fear,  my  Grace.  If  I  am  dreaming,  be 
sure  I  shall  never  wake.^^ 

^^  You  will  always  love  me,  won't  you,  Honore?^^ 

She  spoke  almost  beseechingly 

**  Forever.'' 

^^  And  you  would  not  let  anything  turn  you  from  me?'' 

^^  Grace,  my  own  darling!'' 

They  were  alone  on  the  porch  now,  the  other  guests  hav- 
ing gone  to  the  dining-room.  , 

'^  You  are  the  purest,  loveliest,  most  innocent  creature 
that  ever  lived." 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  gazed  with  passionate  earn- 
estness into  her  upturned  face. 

''  When  I  first  saw  you  I  did  not  know  that,  though  I  be- 
lieved it  from  your  angel  face;  but  I  loved  you  anyhow.  If 
you  were  as  bad  as  you  are  good,  I  should  still  love  you.  I 
could  not  help  it.'' 

A  bright  smile  illumined  her  sweet  face,  and  with  a  be- 
witching transition  to  gayety  which  set  well  upon  her, 
Grace  poised  her  head  on  one  side,  and  pursing  up  her  red 
lipS;  said: 

''Seal  the  compact." 

With  her  mood  his  mood  changed,  and  in  place  of  the 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  75 

vehement  earnestness  of  a  moment  before  was  his  old  time 
joyous  mockery. 

Not  a  thought  was  there  in  his  mind  of  initials,  or  any- 
thing else  unpleasant. 

As  usual  he  was  the  life  of  the  party  at  dinner,  and  dealt 
out  witticisms  lavishly. 

Ilis  spirits  were  unusually  gay,  as  if  taking  a  holiday  from 
the  burden  which  had  just  oppressed  him. 

^asay,  D^Iberrir 

It  was  Alphonse  calling  after  him  as  he  went  to  his  room 
for  the  night. 

'^Much  obliged  for  your  handkerchief.  Haven^t  seen 
mine,  have  you?^^ 

^^JSTo/'^  answered  Clinton,  his  thoughts  wholly  on  Grace. 

He  took  the  handkerchief  and  went  to  his  room. 

He  did  not  light  his  lamp,  but  sat  by  the  open  window, 
still  dreaming  of  his  love. 

Little  by  little,  however,  freed  now  from  the  fascination 
of  her  presence,  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  initials,  and 
again  he  was  a  prey  to  the  darkest  forebodings. 

Suddenly  the  words  of  Alphonse  recurred  to  him. 

A  laugh  of  joy  broke  from  him. 

'^  There/^  said  he  to  himself.  '^  How  I  have  worried  over 
that,  and  here  all  at  once  comes  an  easy  solution.  For  once, 
Alphonse,  I  could  overcome  my  dislike  for  you,  and  fairly 
hug  you.  So,  it  was  your  handkerchief,  then?  Of  course, 
of  course.'^ 

He  could  have  whistled,  danced,  shouted,  in  his  glee  at 
his  discovery. 

He  remembered  now  that  he  had  had  his  handkerchief 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  it  was  evident  that  an  unconscious 
exchange  had  been  made. 

He  hastily  lighted  his  lamp,  and  took  out  the  box  con- 
taining the  two  handkerchiefs. 

^'  Dear  me,'^  he  said.     ^^  How  could  I  be  so  stupid?'^ 

He  took  up  the  handkerchief  belonging  to  Alphonse. 
He  had  tossed  it  unfolded  into  the  box,  and  could  make  no 
mistake  about  it.^' 

^^'G.  A.^  indeed r 

He  was  very  gleeful. 

^' Why,  it's  *  A.  G.'  just  as  plainly  as  can  be.  But  that 
is  like  me.  I  go  around  chasing  shadows  so  much  that  it's 
a  wonder  I  don't  have  more  scares.     Alphonse,  the  next 


76  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

time  you  want  to  borrow  five  hundred  Til  give  you  a  thou- 
simd.-'^ 

The  little  box  was  locked  again  with  a  snap,  as  if  all  of 
Clinton^s  cares  were  shut  in  there. 

Indeed,  Clinton,  too,  seemed  to  think  so  in  good  truth, 
for  he  fell  asleep  as  peacefully  as  a  tired  child,  and  dreamed 
sweet  dreams  of  his  love. 

And  why  not,  since  the  dreadful  ^^  G.  A/^  had  melted 
into  the  harmless  ^*A.  G.'^ 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHAT  GRACE   SAID   ABOUT  THE  INITIALS. 

Early  morning  saw  Clinton  up  and  dressed,  humming 
merrily  one  of  the  Breton  peasant  ballads  which  he  had 
picked  up  in  his  artist  rambles  in  Britanny. 

By  and  by  the  handkerchief  caught  his  eye,  and  he  smiled. 

"  How  could  I  have  made  such  a  mistake.'^^' 

He  picked  it  up  and  studied  the  initials. 

^'  I  don^t  know,  though;  they  could  pass  for  G.  A.  easily 
enough.     I'll  take  a  look  at  the  other  one.^^ 

Out  came  the  little  box. 

Clinton  shook  his  head  and  frowned  as  he  compared  the 
two  handkerchiefs. 

''  There  isn^t  a  particle  of  diiferencCo  Now,  that's  stupid. 
There  ought  to  be  some  way  of  telling  ^hich  is  the  first 
and  which  the  second  letter.  That's  the  worst  of  your  mon- 
ograms; you  never  can  tell.     There's  mine,  now.^' 

He  looked  lovingly  at  the  initials  on  his  own  handker- 
chief, and  wished  it  was  late  enough  to  see  Grace. 

''  I  don't  believe " 

He  was  very  indifferent  and  philosophical  about  it  now. 

''  I  don't  believe  Alphonse  himself  could  tell  which  was 
which.  Funny  how  just  alike  they  are.  They  might  have 
been  done  by  the  same  person;  and  yet  one  is  G.  A.,  and 
the  other  A.  G." 

A  startled  look  shot  into  his  eyes. 

''  Whv!  That's  so!  How  do  I  know  this  other  is  G.  A.  ? 
Why  mightn't  it  be  A.  G.,  too? 

'*  Gracious!" 

^^  There  now,  Clinton,  don't  be  a  fool  again.     You  wor- 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  77 

ried  about  that  enough  last  night.  It's  a  strange  coinci- 
dence, that's  all/^ 

The  handkerchief  was  thrown  petulantly  into  the  box, 
and  locked  up. 

''  I  won't  look  at  that  cursed  thing  again  until '^ 

Well,  what  was  the  use  of  setting  a  time? 

Clinton  assumed  his  happy  look  again,  and  began  to 
hum. 

But  his  mind  would  keen  running  on  those  initials. 

^^  A.  G.,  G.  A.,  I  wonder  which  it  is?" 

The  box  was  out  again,  and  once  more  the  initials  were 
studied. 

^^Well,"  when  he  had  scrutinized  the  letters  with  anxious 
care,  ^^  well ,  and  suppose  you  do  stand  A.  G.  ?  What  then? 
Is  there  anything  in  that?'' 

Clinton  demanded  this  of  the  handkerchief  in  a  defiant 
tone,  as  if  to  prove  that  it  was  a  very  small  matter. 

Again  the  box  was  closed  and  put  away. 

This  time  angrily. 

''  ril  not  stay  here,  and  be  worried  by  this  foolish  trifle." 

Thrusting  Alphonse's  handkerchief  into  his  pocket,  he 
went  down  stairs,  and  wandered  uneasily  about  the  porch 
until  Grace  came  down,  looking,  as  he  told  her,  as  fresh 
and  rosy  as  Aurora. 

He  was  speedily  out  of  his  own  world  and  into  hers,  and 
was  reveling  in  the  joy  of  her  presence. 

All  at  once  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  handker- 
chief, and  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  him. 

''  Grace,  I  did  have  Alphonse's  handkerchief,  after  all.'^ 

''  Yes?" 

'^Yes;  and,  very  stupidly,  I  never  thought  it  was  his 
when  he  spoke  about  it." 

^^No?" 

Grace  was  not  vitally  interested  in  the  handkerchief,  but 
she  was  quite  willing  to  hear  her  lover  talk  about  anything. 

^*No.  I  had  found  it  in  my  pocket,  and  thought  the 
initials  were  G.  A.     Now  wasn't  I  stupid?" 

^'  Of  course  you  weren't  stupid,  you  couldn't  be.'^ 

''Well,  but  see  if  you  could  have  made  G.  A.  out  of  it." 

He  gave  her  the  handkerchief. 

''In  a  hurry  I  might.     Of  course  I  could,  easily." 

"Now,  Grace,  you  are  trying  to  evade  the  question,  and 
that  isn't  like  my  honest  little  woman." 


78  THE  AMERICAN  MABQUIS. 

<(  Why,  Honore,  you  are  in  earnest/* 

Grace  spoke  feelingly. 

Clinton  all  at  once  recognized  that  he  was  making  a 
serious  matter  of  this  trifle  again. 

He  was  angry  with  himself. 

'•'  Dear  little  Grace,  what  a  fool  I  am!*' 

''  I'll  never  agree  to  any  such  thing,  Honore.** 

Grace  smiled.     Clinton  smiled  and  bent  over  her. 

''  Somebody  will  catch  you  doing  that  some  day/*  said 
Grace,  a  moment  later. 

*'  Now's  a  good  opportunity  then.** 

And  Clinton  repeated  his  former  action. 

The  handkerchief  was  now  far  a\yay  from  his  thoughts, 
but  Grace  had  not  forgotten  it,  for  she  held  it  in  her 
hand. 

^^Don*t  you  see/*  she  said,  ^^the  A.  is  on  the  top  of  the 
G.,  and  that  shows  how  it  is  intended  to  bereatl?*' 

'^  There,  my  love,**  he  exclaimed,  gayly,  ^*^^you  denied 
tliat  I  was  stupid,  and  then  you  goto  work  and  prove  that 
I  am.** 

"  You  are  not  stupid;  only  you*re  a  man — -" 

*'  Oh,  I  see;  you  think  that  all  men  are  naturally  stupid/' 

^•'  Honore,  you  shall  not  kiss  me  again  for  two  hours  if 
you  interrupt  me  to  say  such  things.  I  was  going  to  say 
that  men  are  not  expected  to  know  much  about  such 
matters.** 

Of  course  Clinton  could  not  be  alone  with  Grace  every 
minute  of  the  day. 

There  were  whole  hours  at  times  when  he  was  left  to  his 
own  devices.  These  periods  he  usually  spent  lolling  on  the 
porch,  waiting  for  Grace  and  dreaming  about  her. 

To-day  he  found  that  his  thoughts  would  continually 
revert  to  the  initials,  until  at  last  he  petulantly  w^ent  to 
his  room  determined  to  have  it  out  with  those  irritating 
letters. 

Once  more  he  took  out  the  box  and  examined  the  initials. 
He  was  going  to  try  them  by  Grace*s  test.  Then  he  would 
at  least  know  what  the  initials  really  were,  and  perhaps  he 
could  then  get  them  out  of  his  mind. 

By  the  test  they  were  A.  G. 

''  There!  That  is  settled.  A.  G.  you  are  then.  Now  I 
hope  I  shall  have  some  peace. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  79 

^^  Well,,  and  what  if  A.  G.  does  stand  for  Alphonse 
Gorinot?    Bah,  Clinton,  you  drivel  like  an  idiot. '^ 

But  the  idea  was  not  thus  to  be  driven  from  his  mind. 
It  stuck  there  and  haunted  him  like  a  nightmare. 

Not  that  he  connected  Alphonse  with  the  masked  man, 
that  thought  had  not  yet  suggested  itself;  but  as  if  he  were 
bewitched  by  them  they  kept  going  through  his  mind,  a 
sort  of  refrain  to  every  other  thought. 

''A.  G.,  Alphonse  Gorinot.     A.  G.,  Alphonse  Gorinot.'^ 

"  You  must  be  sick,  Clinton,'^  he  said  to  himself.  ''  You 
have  not  been  taking  the  exercise  you  should.  Tear  your- 
self away  from  Grace  for  an  afternoon  and  go  for  a  long 
walk.     You'll  be  sick  if  you  don't. '^ 

And  he  went  that  very  afternoon,  explaining  to  Grace 
that  he  felt  the  need  of  hard,  exercise  which  he  was  ac- 
customed to. 

Grace  urged  him  to  go,  for  she  saw  that  he  did  not  look 
like  himself.  ' 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A.    G. — ALPHONSE  GORINOT. 

A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot.     A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot. 

Despite  his  most  strenuous  eif  orts  to  think  of  other  things 
this  refrain  kept  dancing  through  his  brain. 

It  kept  tune  to  his  steps  as  he  walked  along. 

A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot.  A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot, 
until  he  was  nearly  beside  himself. 

Could  it  be  a  symptom  of  brain  fever?  Might  it  be  a  pos- 
sible indication  of  insanity? 

^  He  quickened  his  pace,  and  still  every  footfall  was  only  a 
time  beat  to 

A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot.     A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot. 

He  ran,  and  the  farmers  working  in  their  fields  marveled 
to  see  him  going  at  that  mad  pace  in  the  broiling  sun. 

The  refrain  only  quickened  its  time  to  keep  up  with  him. 

Weary  at  last,  and  angry  with  himself,  he  stopped  by  the 
edge  of  a  wood  and  sat  down. 

"Now  I  will  face  this  thing  I  have  tried  to  run  away 
from  it,  and  it  has  clung  to  me.  I  will  meet  it  and  kill  it 
with  reasoning. 

/ 


80  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^'  Why  should 'I  dislike  to  look  the  matter  squarely  in  the 
facer 

He  did  not  know.  Indeed,  he  was  not  conscious  that 
underneath  his  unwillingness  was  an  undefined  dread.  But 
there  was. 

*^  A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot.  Well,  and  may  not  A.  G. 
stand  for  a  thousand  other  persons? 

^'  This  A.  G.  could  not  stand  for  Alphonse  Gorinot;  now 
be  reasonable,  and  see  how  absurd  such  a  thought 
would  be." 

Clinton  was  addressing  his  mind  as  if  it  belonged  to  some- 
body else.  It  was  a  habit  he  had  fallen  into  in  his  lonely 
artist  days. 

*'  Well,  if  you  will  have  it,  say  it  does  stand  for  Alphonse. 
W^ill  you  have  the  folly  to  suppose  that  Alphonse  and  the 
masked  man 

''  Clinton,  Clinton  would  you  dishonor  yourself  by  allow- 
ing such  a  thought  one  moment's  rest  in  your  mind?  Can 
yoa  forget  that  he  is  Grace^s  brother? 

'^  Out  upon  you,  fiend,  that  would  suggest  such  a 
thought.  Out — out,  I  will  not  listen!  I  will  not!  I  will 
not!" 

Once  more  he  was  striding  furiously  along  the  road,  his 
hands  clenched,  his  jaw^s  set,  and  his  lips  convulsively  mut- 
tering: 

^a  will  not!     Iwillnot!'V 

And  yet  he  did. 

Again  he  stopped  and  sat  under  a  tree. 

''I  will  then.  Forgive  me,  Grace,  darling.  It  is  not  I. 
It  is  the  fiend  that  possesses  me. 

''  Well,  then,  Satan,  have  your  say.  Insinuate  what  you 
will.     But  have  a  care;  I  will  not  be  driven  too  far.^^ 

Clinton  spoke  as  if  he  really  believed  Satan  had  possession 
of  his  mind. 

'^Alphonse  is  the  same  height,  you  say?  Well,  andj 
might  not  fifty  thousand  men  be  the  same?  \ 

''Something  in  his  voice  and  manner  that  wakens  mem-, 
ory?  Bah,  you  are  fanciful.  Why  did  you  not  think  of 
that  before? 

^adid? 

*^  I  did  not.     It^s  a  lie.     I  thought  I  had  seen  him  be-; 
fore.     I  knew  afterward  that  it  was  only  an  undefined  re- 
semblance to  Grace. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS.  81 

^'Aha!    Are  you  satisfied  now? 

•^  What!    The  woman  like  Grace? 

*^Now,  stop!  Stop!  Another  thought  like  that  and  I 
will  tear  your  heart  out  with  my  own  fingers. 

^^  My  Grace!  My  pure-hearted,  innocent  Grace!  Oh! 
great  Heaven,  am  I  going  mad?^^ 

He  held  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  his  eyes  glared  fear- 
fully. It  seemed  as  if  his  brain  were  on  fire — as  if  it  were 
no  longer  under  his  control. 

^^I  cannot  bear  this!^'  he  cried,  in  agony.  ^'I  cannot, 
and  I  will  not.     Oh!  Heaven  have  mercy !^^ 

He  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  and  held  his  face  in  his 
hands.     He  believed  he  was  really  going  mad. 

Still  the  refrain  went  on,  with  a  frightful  addition  now. 

A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot.     Grace  was  the  woman. 

A.  G. — Alphonse  Gorinot.     Grace  was  the  woman. 

A  frightful  calm  came  over  Clinton. 

^'  I  will  tear  you  out  of  my  brain.  With  red  hot  pincers 
I  will  tear  you  out.  I  will  not  go  mad.  Not  yet  anyhow^. 
I  will  tell  Grace  all.  I  should  have  done  so  before.  This 
is  my  punishment,  and  I  deserve  it.  I  that  would  have  de- 
ceived that  gentle  creature!  I  that  have  polluted  her  pure 
lips  by  mine  that  have  been  pressed  lovingly  against  those 
others. 

^^  What  will  Grace  do?  What?  Heaven  help  me,  what- 
ever she  does! 

**Send  me  from  her  in  scorn  and  loathing?  It  would  be 
right,  and  then  I  should  turn  devil  again  and  accomplish 
my  infernal  mission. 

**Turn  from  me  in  pity,  and  die  alone,  away  from  me, 
of  a  broken  heart!     That  is  more  like  my  Grace." 

"My  Grace!  Oh,  Heaven,  what  mockery!  My  Grace! 
and  I  her  murderer! 

"But  it  must  be  done — it  must  be  done!^^ 

Slowly,  sadly,  sternly,  Clinton  rose  and  wended  his  way 
homeward. 

No  longer  was  he  tormented  by  the  maddening  refrain. 
It  was  as  if  his  resolve  had  exorcised  the  demon  in  his 
brain. 

But,  oh!  the  pain  that  racked  his  heart  at  the  thought  of 
what  Grace  would  feel,  how  she  would  look,  when  he  told 
her  of  his  unhappy  past! 


82  THE  AMERICAN  IVIARQUIS. 

It  was  only  right.  He  could  see  it  plainly  now,  though 
he  had  so  successfully  put  it  out  of  sight  before. 

But  how  could  he  live  without  her  love? 

Alas!  that  was  not  the  question. 

Before  him,  he  saw  two  ways— one  right,  full  of  anguish; 
one  wrong,  full  of  madness. 

There  could  be  no  choice. 

If  Grace  were  one  whit  less  an  angel,  he  might  have  felt 
that  he  could  withhold  from  her  the  truth. 

Yes,  he  must  tell  it  to  her — he  must. 

But  need  he  tell  it  now,  right  away?  Might  he  not  wait 
a  little  while? 

He  caught  eagerly  at  the  hope  of  a  respite. 

Why  wait?  Would  it  not  be  putting  off  the  evil  day, 
merely?    Could  any  relief  come  by  waiting? 

No,  there  was  no  use  waiting  in  hope  of  anything  occur- 
ring to  help  him,  and  yet  the  nearer  he  approached  the 
house  the  greater  his  disinclination  became  to  tell  Grace 
his  story. 

He  stopped  within  sight  of  the  house  and  discussed  the 
matter  with  himself. 

No  good  reason  could  he  give  himself  for  delaying  the 
confession,  and  only  one  excuse  could  he  find  for  waiting. 

That  excuse  he  rejected  twenty  times. 

At  first  angrily,  and  finally  doubtfully. 

**  What  would  be  the  use  of  trying  such  a  desperate  plan? 
I  know  it  could  only  result  in  giving  pain  to  an  innocent 
man.*' 

Then  he  turned  to  the  thought  of  telling  Grace.  That 
was  unbearable. 

^'  But  since  he  is  innocent,  it  could  only  be  a  joke  to  him, 
and  at  least  it  would  drive  out  of  my  head  this  infernal  re- 
frain, which  I  know  will  come  back  if  I  give  up  my  inten- 
tion to  confess  the  whole  truth  to  Grace. 

''  I  will  do  it.     He  may  be  gone,  but  I  don^t  believe  it.'* 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

TETE-DE-FEB  HEETS   AK  OLD  ACQTTAim^ANCE. 

In  that  same  little  French  tavern  on  Mott  street  where 
once  before  we  have  been,  sat  very  nearly  the  same  disrepu- 
table crew  of  Frenchmen,  playing  vingt-et-un. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS.  83 

It  seemed  as  if  the  game-  might  be  the  verj  same  one. 
The  oaths,  the  exclamations  of  chagrin  or  pleasure,  the 
shuffling  of  the  cards,  seemed  the  same  done  over  again. 

And  no  wonder.  The  same  men  played  the  same  game 
day  after  day  and  month  after  month,  except  when  a  more 
unfortunate  rascal  than  his  fellows  was  caught  by  the  law 
and  retired  from  society  for  a  time. 

Even  then  the  vacant  place  was  filled  and  the  game  went 
on  with  a  laugh  for  the  comrade  who  was  taking  his  enforced 
vacation. 

So  they  sat  one  warm,  summer  afternoon. 

"Ah,  good-day,  mes  cmiis.     At  it  still,  eh?* 

"  Bras-de-Fer!     Bras-de-Fer!'' 

The  welcoming  shout  rose,  and  every  man  turned  in  his 
chair  to  hail  the  masterful  fellow  who  lost  his  money  so 
cheerfully.  , 

One  man  only  sat  still  and  said  nothing. 

It  was  Tete-de-Fer,  who  was  wondering  what  had  hap- 
pened to  bring  the  detective  there. 

Bras-de-Fer  caught  his  eye. 
'     *^Aha,   my  iron-headed   comrade,    you   are   here,   then! 
They  told  me  you  had  been  studying  the  banking  system  too 
hard,  and  were  sick  abed  in  consequence.^' 

A  quickly  hushed  laugh  followed  this  reference  to  Tete- 
de-Fer's  capture  and  imprisonment. 

The  crowd  dared  to  laugh  when  Bras-de-Fer  joked,  but 
they  stopped  when  Tete-de-Fer  glanced  angrily  around  the 
table. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here;  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  I  do  not 
like  such  jokes.*' 

The  men  about  the  room  looked  at  each  other.  Tete-de- 
Fer  was  more  dreaded,  though  less  feared,  than  Bras-de- 
Fer.  The  two  had  always  been  friendly.  Were  they  going 
to  have  a  row  now?  They  waited  for  the  strong  man's  an- 
swer. 

''  It  was  a  joke  then,  eh?  Fm  glad  to  know  that,  for  I 
was  afraid,  when  I  looked  at  your  head,  that  you  really  had 
had  a  bad  fever.** 

Tete-de-Fer*s  head  still  showed  the  marks  of  the  prison 
barber. 

Nobody  laughed  this  time,  excepting  Bras-de-Fer,  who 
seemed  to  enjoy  his  jest  very  much.     Everybody  looked  to 


84  THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS. 

see  Tete-de-Fer  jump  at  his  tormentor  with  his  knife.  They 
knew  his  violent  temper. 

They  were  disappointed.  Tete-de-Fer  scowled  sullenly, 
but  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

Bras-de-Fer  laughed  carelessly,  and  called  for  wine.  The 
glasses  were  filled. 

*^  We'll  drink  to  the  better  health  of  our  friend  Tete-de- 
Fer.^^ 

The  men  looked  sidewise  at  each  other.  They  hesitated 
to  offend  Tete-de-Fer. 

''  You  will  drink,  my  friends/'  said  Bras-de-Fer,  impe- 
riously. 

They  drank.  They  would  have  crawled  on  the  floor  if 
the  order  had  been  given  in  that  tone. 

Tete-de-Fer's  glass  was  untouched. 

"  My  friend'" — Bras-de-Fer  looked  directly  at  him — ^'you 
will  not  offend  me  by  not  drinking?" 

The  glass  was  slowly,  sullenly  raised  and  drained. 

^^  Good  I  I  thought  you  would  drink  if  I  asked  you  in 
the  right  way."' 

Tete-de-Fer  muttered  a  curse  under  his  breath. 

It  was  dangerous  trifling  with  such  a  wild  beast,  but 
Clinton  was  in  a  mood  when  he  was  glad  of  any  such  rough 
pastime. 

He  disliked  to  use  the  man  for  the  purpose  he  intended, 
and  it  was  a  relief  to  him  in  his  reckless  frame  of  mind  to 
take  the  chances  of  rousing  a  rebellious  spirit. 

''  Come,  friend  banker,"'  he  said;  ^'let  you  and  I  take  a 
walk  together  and  discuss  the  new  system."" 

Tete-de-Fer  got  up  aild  followed,  much  to  the  wonder- 
ment of  the  crowd. 

^'  Bras-de-Fer  is  the  devil !""  said  one,  when  the  two  were 
gone. 

^' And  see  how  the  fierce  Tete-de-Fer  followed  him  like  a 
whipped  puppy!""  said  another. 

The  two  men  sat  together  in  Bras-de-Fer's  room. 

*' Why  did  you  gibe  me  so?""  growled  Tete-de-Fer. 

*^To  show  you,  and  everybody  else,  that  I  am  master."" 

If  Tete-de-Fer  expected  to  be  conciliated,  he  was  mis- 
taken. 

^^  I  thought  you  were  through  with  me?"" 

'*  As  long  as  you  live,  I  shall  use  you  as  often  as  I  wish."' 

'"'If  I  should  refuse?'. 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  85 

"When  you  do  I  will  tell  you.     Do  you  refuse  now?^^ 

*^  Tell  me  what  you  want/^ 

*^Do  you  refuse?'^ 

'^No/^ 

'*  That  is  more  like  it.     Now,  Fll  tell  you  what  I  want 
Would  you  like  to  make  a  thousand  dollars  T' 

''  Of  course/' 

''  Well,  if  I  were  to  find  the  masked  man  of  Chateau 
dTberri  for  you,  do  you  think  you  could  make  a  thousand 
dollars  ?^^ 

''  Have  you  found  him?    You  must  be  the  devil I^' 

"  Only  half-brother,  mon  ami.  Yes,  I  have  found  the 
masked  man.  You  will  go  to  him,  and  tell  him  who  you 
are,  and  as  much  of  the  d-ifair  as  you  think  necessary,  ex- 
cepting that  you  must  not  mention  Chateau  d^Iberri.^' 

^^  Where  is  he^        / 

^^  I  will  take  you  to  him.  If  he  should  insist  that  he  is 
not  the  man,  pretend  to  believe  him,  and  come  away.  If 
he  gives  in,  ask  him  for  a  thousand  dollars  at  once.  If  he 
should  not  give  in,  I  will  see  that  you  get  the  money.'' 

'^  What  is  his  name?" 

'^  You  need  not  know  that.  I  will  point  him  out.  As 
soon  as  you  have  the  money,  or  he  has  refused  to  give  it, 
come  back  here  at  once,  and  wait  for  me,  if  you  have  to 
wait  a  week." 

"  I  will.     You  order  like  an  emperor,  though.'' 

^^  Don't  I  pay  like  one,  too?" 

''  Yes." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  LOAN-  OF  ONE  THOUSAND   DOLLARS. 

''  1  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again,  Honore!" 

'*  And  I  you,  Grace,  dear.  The  two  days  seemed  like 
two  years.  But  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  again  to- 
morrow." 

'*  Oh !  But  you  look  better  than  you  did,  Honore.  Why, 
you  looked  dreadfully  troubled  for  a  day  or  two,  though 
you  tried  to  hide  it  from  me  that  you  were  so.  By  and  by, 
you  will  tell  me  when  anything  troubles  you,  won't  you, 
dear?" 

**  Indeed  I  will.     I  would  tell  you  now,  only  I  don't " 


86  THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS. 

'^  I  say,  D'lberri.  Excuse  me,  Grace,  I  want  to  have  a 
word  with  D^Iberri  in  private/^ 

Clinton  turned  pale  as  he  followed  Alphonse  away.  But, 
pshaw!  why  should  he  feel  uncomfortable? 

"  You'll  think  I^'m  a  regular  shark,  D^Iberri,  but  the 
truth  is,  Fm  awfully  pushed.  One  of  my  creditors  in  the 
city  insists  on  having  a  payment.     Got  any  cash  to  spare?" 

Clinton  would  have  given  ten  thousand  dollars  with  joy 
if  he  could  have  been  sure  Alphonse  was  speaking  only  the 
truth. 

^^How  much?'' 

'^  Well,  I  don't  think  less  than  a  thousand  would  be  of 
any  use."  \ 

^^  A  thousand!  I'll  tell  you  what,  Alphonse,  I've  got  to  go 
to  the  city  to-morrow,  so  if  you'll  give  me  the  bill,  I'll  draw 
my  check  for  it,  and  pay  it  in  full.  I  know  what  a  nuisance 
these  duns  are." 

Alphonse  looked  as  if  he  did  not  like  the  suggestion. 

''  Good  of  you,  D'Iberri;  but,  to  be  frank,  the  man  is  in 
the  village,  and  says  he  wants  the  cash." 

''  Oh,  nonsense!  Bring  him  up  here,  and  let  him  take 
my  check." 

^*  D'Iberri,  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret.  I've  fooled  tliis 
chap  so  often  that  he's  suspicious,  and  swears  he'll  ex- 
pose my  troubles  by  a  suit  if  I  don't  pay  cash  right 
away." 

^'  But  he's  unreasonable,  Alphonse;  he  surely  can't  sup- 
pose you  carry  so  much  cash  at  once.  Come,  let's  go  see 
him,  and  I'll  get  him  to  take  my  check.  I  don't  believe  I 
have  cash  enough." 

'^  Xo,  I  won't  let  you  have  any  such  trouble,  D'Iberri. 
See  if  you  have  the  cash.  If  not,  I'll  tell  him  he  must 
wait,  that's  all." 

Alphonse  looked  very  determined,  and  so  little  worried, 
that,  in  spite  of  the  most  direful  misgivings,  Clinton,  who 
was  anxious  to  believe  him,  told  himself  that  the  demand 
for  money  at  this  time  was  only  a  coincidence. 

He  knew  he  had  the  money,  because  he  had  drawn  that 
much  to  give  to  Tete-de-Fer. 

He  gave  the  thousand  dollars  to  Alphonse,  and  returned 
as  quickly  as  possible  to  Grace,  feeling  that  he  needed  the 
forgetfulness  of  her  companionship  more  than  ever. 

'^Honore,"  said  Grace^  when  he  had  joined  her,  ^'you 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  87 

look  annoyed.     It  is  Alphonse,  I  know.      He  has  been  bor 
rowing  money  of  you.     I  have  known  for  some  time  that  he 
was  making  use  of  you  in  this  way;  but,  though   I  was  in- 
dignant,  1  said  nothing.      Now  I   will   not   have  it  any 
more.'^ 

'"Why,  Grace,  dear,  I  don't  care  for  the  money.  I^m  so 
rich  tiiat  Tm  glad  of  some  one  to  help  me  spend  my  money. 
But,  to  be  candid,  I  don't  like  to  think  of  your  brother 
being  such  a  fellow  as  Alphonse.^^ 

"I  don%  either,  darling,  and  I  will  not  have  him 
troubling  you  so.  Was  it  on  his  account  that  you  looked 
so  troubled  before ?^^ 

^*No,  no;  that  is,  not  exactly,  Grace.  But  don^t  talk  of 
him.     Let  us  talk  of  you." 


^^Well,  my  iron-headed  friend,  did  you  collect  your 
thousand  dollars ?^^ 

^adid.^^ 

Clinton  shuddered.     He  had  hoped  to  hear  otherwise. 

^^Did  you  have  any  trouble?^' 

*^  Not  much.  He  swore  at  first  it  was  a  mistake;  but,  as 
soon  as  I^d  talked  a  little  with  him,  I  knew  him  dead  cer- 
tain, and  I  let  him  see  he  couldn^t  play  with  me.^^ 

**  How  did  he  pay  you?^' 

^^  Bills.     Here  they  are.'' 

Clinton  looked  them  over.  They  were  the  same  he  had 
given  Alphonse. 

^'  Did  you  make  any  agreement  with  him?^' 

*^  No;  he  wanted  me  to  leave  the  country,  but  I  said  no. 
You  see  I  didn^t  know  what  you  wanted. '^ 

''  That  was  right.  You  may  go  now.  Come  back  here 
to-morrow  morning,  and  I'll  show  you  how  to  make  an- 
other thousand.  You  haven't  any  doubt  he  was  the  masked 
man?'' 

''  I  can  swear  to  him;  besides,  would  he  have  paid  if  he 
hadn't  been?" 

"All  right.     Come  in  the  morning. '^ 

When  Tete-de-Fer  was  gone,  Clinton  mechanically 
locked  the  door  after  him,  and  threw  himself  on  a  chair, 
murmuring: 

'^  Just  Heaven!  what  does  this  mean?     Whither  does  it 


88  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

lead  me?  Poor  Grace,  when  you  know  that  your  brother — 
ahr 

He  sprang  wildly  to  his  feet. 

^'Oh,  Heaven!  not  that — not  that!  Keep  me  from  such 
thoughts.  Back  me  with  pain,  cut  my  heart  in  shreds,  tear 
my  soul  from  my  body,  but,  oh.  Heaven,  spare  me  such 
thoughts. 

'^  Make  me  crazy  if  you  will,  trample  me  in  the  dust,  do 
what  you  will,  but  not  that — not  that. 

''  It  could  not  be  that.     You  know  it  could  not  be  that.^^ 

He  was  pleading  like  a  little  child  now,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  his  mind  was  unsettled. 

''  How  could  it  be  so?  She  is  so  good,  so  pure,  so  gentle, 
so  innocent. 

"  Not  that,  please — not  that.  I  will  go  away  and  hide 
myself.     I  will  die!'^ 

He  fell  on  his  knees,  and  wept,  and  prayed,  and  pleaded. 

Then  of  a  sudden  his  mood  changed,  and  he  clutched 
and  tore  at  his  throat,  blaspheming  and  cursing. 

He  shattered  the  furniture  into  pieces,  fell  upon  the  bed, 
and  rent  it  in  his  insane  fury. 

Again  he  pleaded  and  prayed  upon  his  knees. 

Again  he  raved  and  blasphemed. 

He  fell  upon  the  floor  shrieking  with  wild  laughter. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

WHAT  THE  NEIGHBORS  THOUGHT. 

Eap — rap — rap! 

''  Come  in." 

An  ineffectual  attempt  to  open  the  doon 

^^  I  can^t  open  it."'' 

''  Oh!  ril  unlock  it.     Come  in.^' 

''  Gloire  de  Cieir 

Tete-de-Fer  looked  wonderingly  around  the  room,  and 
then  at  Bras-de-Fer. 

^^Pandemonium  broke  loose,"  said  Bras-de-Fer,  with 
a  loud  laugh. 

^^  That's  what  your  neighbors  said  to  me  as  I  came  up. 
Too  much '' 

Tete-de-Fer  filled  out  his  sentence  by  a  motion  sugges- 
tive of  emptying  a  glass  down  his  throat. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  89 

''  That^s  it.  I  only  (5o  it  once  in  a  while^  but  when  I  do, 
I  make  a  business  of  it.'^ 

^at  looks  like  it/' 

The  room  was  a  perfect  wreck.  Not  a  piece  of  furniture 
was  whole. 

Eap — rap — rap! 

'^  Come  in.^^ 

A  frightened  face  peered  into  the  room,  and  with  dis- 
tended eyes  viewed  the  scene. 

'^  Was  monsieur  ill?" 

"  Hand  me  that  pillow,  Tete-de-Fer.  Ill,  did  you  ask, 
mo7i  ami?    Come  in,  please. ""^ 

But  the  owner  of  the  face  had  his  eye  on  the  pilloy,  and 
begged  to  be  excused. 

'^  Then  get  out.'' 

With  a  shout  of  laughter,  Bras-de-Fer  launched  the  pil- 
low at  the  door  with  such  good  aim  that  if  the  face  had  not 
been  suddenly  withdrawn  there  is  a  likelihood  that  it  would 
have  been  squeezed  somewhat. 

This  was  a  new  mood  for  Tete-de-Fer  to  find  the  detec- 
tive in,  and  he  hardly  knew  how  to  conduct  himself  lest  he 
should  become  a  victim. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  see  me?''  he  ventured  to  say. 

"  Ready?    Of  course  I'm  ready.     Don't  I  look  so?" 

*^  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  be  tired  from  last  night's 
exertions." 

^'  Tired!  oh,  no.  I  feel  like  doing  more.  Td  like  to  get 
hold  of  a  good  stout  man  and  tear  him  to  pieces." 

Tete-de-Fer  laughed  uneiasily. 

''  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

'^  You  are  sure  you  are  willing  to  do  it?" 

^'Oh!  quite  sure." 

''  I  wish  you'd  refuse.'' 

^'Why?" 

''  Because  I  could  try  my  hand  on  you  then." 

''Thank  you,  monsieur;  I'd  rather  you'd  try  somebody 
else." 

Tete-de-Fer  tried  to  appear  at  ease  but  failed  utterly. 
His  discomfiture  seemed  to  give  Clinton  great  pleasure. 
He  had  at  last  thoroughly  tamed  this  wild  beast. 

''  rU  tell  you  what  I  want  you  to  do.  You're  to  go  to 
that  chap  again.     You  know?" 

''  Yes." 


90  THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS. 

'*  Tell  him  you'll  leave  the  country  if  he  will  give  you 
another  thousand  dollars.  Tell  him  you  want  to  go  to 
Australia.  If  he  says  he  can't  get  the  money  tell  him  jewels 
will  do.  Make  him  give  the  money  or  its  value.  Do  you 
hear?'^ 

''  Yes.^' 

"  You  want  to  watch  your  time  to-morrow  so  as  to  catch 
him  just  about  dusk — a  little  before  it  will  be  best.  You 
understand?'^ 

r^Yes.'^ 

^'  That  will  make  it  dark  when  he  returns  to  you,  so  take 
care  he  doesn't  stick  a  knife  in  your  ribs.^^ 

"  ril  take  care.'' 

Tete-de-Fer  shook  a  heavy  stick  in  his  hand  in  a  signifi- 
cant manner. 

''  None  of  that,  ami,  I  don*t  want  him  hurt.  Fm  sav- 
ing him  for  better  things." 

*^  All  right;  but  suppose  he  tries?'' 

"  Just  give  his  wrist  a  tap — you  know  the  trick,  and  then 
take  his  knife  and  bring  it  here.  I  want  it  to  put  with  my 
curiosities." 

^^  All  right." 

^'  Now  don't  forget.     Just  before  dusk." 


CHAPTEK    XXVIII. 

HOW    ALPHONSE   GOT   A   THOUSAND  MORE. 

It  was  dusk. 

('linton  and  Grace  sat  lovingly  together  at  one  end  of  the 
porch. 

All  the  other  guests  had  gone  to  have  a  moonlight  view 
of  the  famous  waterfall  some  distance  away. 

The  lovers  thought  they  were  to  have  a  quiet  evening 
alone,  when  to  their  annoyance  they  could  distinguish  the 
figure  of  a  man  coming  up  the  walk. 

^' D'Iberri,  where  are  you?" 

It  was  Alphonse. 

^aierel  am." 

''Ah!  they  told  me  I  should  find  you  hereabouts.  I'd 
like  to  see  you  for  a  moment." 

*'  Certainly.     Excuse  me,  darling.'^ 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  91 

'^  Honore,  refuse  to  give  him  any  more  money.  I  know 
that  is  what  he  is  after/'' 

Grace  whispered  this  to  her  lover. 

^'  I  shall  have  to  to-night,  dear,  for  I  am  run  short  my- 
self.'^ 

And  Clinton  joined  Alphonse. 

^*I  say^  D'Iberri,  how  are  you  for  cash?  The  ugliest  of 
my  creditors  is  after  me,  and  threatens  all  ,sorts  of  things  if 
I  don't  pay  at  once." 

*'  I  am  very  sorry,  Alphonse,  but  I  haven't  ten  dollars 
with  me.'' 

''  Mo7i  Dieu!  What  shall  I  do?  Let  me  see.  I'll  tell 
you.  Can't  you  draw  a  check  to  bearer.  That's  the  same 
as  cash  almost." 

^'  Yes,  or  I  could  draw  it  just  as  well  to  your  order  or  the 
creditor's.     What's  his  name?" 

''  If  you  don't  mind,  old  fellow,  I'll  not  tell  you.  It's  not 
nice  to  have  one's  creditors  known,  don't  you  see?" 

'*'  Of  course.     Then  I'll  draw  it  to  your  order,  eh?'^ 

^'  Better  make  it  bearer,  I  guess." 

''  All  right.  You  are  sure  a  thousand  will  do?  I  can  let 
you  have  more  just  as  well." 

'^  That's  awfully  good  of  you,  DTberri.  You^re  the  most 
generous  fellow  I  ever  saw.  Suppose  you  let  me  have  another 
check  for  five  hundred." 

''Oh,  pshaw!     Say  a  thousand.     I'll  never  miss  it." 

''  A  thousand,  then.     How  can  I  thank  you?" 

*'  Don't  try.     Come  up  to  my  room." 

Alphonse  followed  with  a  springy  step,  and  a  low,  joyous 
whistle.     DTberri  was  as  good  as  a  bank. 

Clinton  opened  his  trunk,  took  out  his  check-book,  and 
drew  two  checks  as  agreed. 

''Now  isn't  it  odd,"  exclaimed  Alphonse,  with  a  sort  of 
innocent  philosophy,  "  that  your  name  should  be  worth  so 
much  more  than  mine?  I  could  write  my -name  to  one  of 
those  sheets,  and  I  couldn't  get  a  cent  for  it.  But  you!  I 
suppose  now  you  could  make  that  ten  times  as  large  and  still 
the  name  would  carry  it." 

Clinton  smiled. 

'•'One  hundred  or  one  thousand  times  as  much  I  could 
carry  with  my  name  in  Paris,  but  here  it  depends  upon  my 
deposit  at  the  bank.  You  see  I  never  have  more  than  ten 
or  twenty  thousand  here  at  one  time,  and  sometimes  it  runs 


92  THE  AMERICAN  MABQOTS.  ^ 

very  close  to  nothing.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  reduced  me 
very  low.  I  know  1  can  t  have  much  left.  Til  count  up, 
just  for  fun.^' 

For  an  impecunious  spendthrift  like  Alphonse  this  talk 
of  money  was  a  very  agreeable  one. 

He  followed  Clinton's  figures  with  great  interest.  What 
did  he  care  if  his  creditors  had  to  wait.    - 

^^  What's  this?"  exclaimed  Clinton,  in  a  tone  of  perplex- 
ity. 

^'What's  what  r 

^'  Why,  it  looks  as  if  I'd  used  up  my  balance  completely.^' 

^^  Pshaw!  Well,  then,  old  fellow,  just  cut  me  down  half 
on  that  thousand  for  myself." 

Alphonse  could  afford  to  be  generous. 

^^  Yes,  but  the  balance  is  gone  without  counting  the  two 
thousand  to  you.'' 

''  Mon  Dieur 

Alphonse  was  very  rudely  startled  out  of  his  easy  tran- 
quillity. 

''  How  could  I  have  been  so  careless.  I  don't  care  for 
myself,  Alphonse.     It  is  only  on  your  account." 

^^  But  surely  the  bank  will  let  you  overdraw.'^ 

^^  Indeed  they  will  not.  They  have  told  me  so  very  po- 
litely, but  very  firmly." 

^*  Isn't  there  any  way,  then,  you  can  let  me  have  the 
money  ?" 

•'  Not  a  way.  Unless  you  can  wait  a  few  days,  till  I  tele- 
graph for  more." 

"  I  can't  do  that.     Mo7i  Dieuf  what  shall  I  d6?" 

''  Is  this  creditor  so  very  savage?" 

'^  Awful." 

''  Try  to  put  him  off.  Tell  him  who  I  am;  let  me  see 
him,  and  perhaps  he  will  listen  to  me." 

''You  couldn't  do  any4:hing  with  him,  D'Iberri.  I'll 
have  to  try  Grace.  Maybe  she  will  have  it.  I  must  get  it 
somehow." 

''  Well,  look  here,  Alphonse— I  feel  as  if  I  was  somehow 
to  blame  in  this  matter  myself.  I  ought  to  have  had  the 
money  on  hand.  If  Grace  shouldn't  have  the  money,  let 
me  go  with  you  and  talk  to  this  absurd  fellow,  will  vou?" 

''  I'll  see  Grace  first." 

''Well,  you  know  I'm  awfully  sorry,  now,  don't  you, 
Alphonse?     I'll  do  a  great  deal  for  you  for  your  own  sake. 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS. 


93 


but  Fll  do  absolutely  anything  because  you  are  Grace's 
brother/' 

Alphonse  inwardly  cursed  him  for  a  love-sick  fool. 

They  returned  to  the  porch,  Clinton  still  profuse  in  his 
expressions  of  sympathy,  Alphonse  in  a  very  bad  humor. 

And  indeed  it  was  enough  to  make  any  man  lose  his  tem- 
per to  be  made  to  believe  that  he  was  not  only  to  get  rid  of 
an  importunate  creditor,  but  was  also  to  have  an  unexpected 


^^  GRACE,    MAY   I   SEE   YOU   A   MOMENT,    PLEASE?"'    WAS 
HIS  NOT  VERY  COURTEOUS  REQUEST. 

thousand  presented  to  him,  and  then  to  have  it  all  suddenly 
withdrawn  without  a  word  of  warning. 

'^  Grace,  may  I  see  you  a  moment,  please?"  was  his  not 
very  courteous  request. 

As  Grace  had  half  expected  such  a  summons,  she  made 
no  answer,  but  went  to  him,  leaving  Clinton  to  sit  down 
and  wait  for  her. 

^'What  do  you  want,  Alphonse?" 


94  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 


n 


^^Come  to  your  room  and  I  will  tell  jou/' 

^^  Why  not  here?" 

^*  I  can't  very  well/^ 

^'  Now,  Alphonse,  if  it  is  money  you  want,  I  can  tell  you 
now  that  I  have  none/' 

"  If  you  knew  what  I  had  to  say,  you  wouldn't  stand  here 
talking.     Will  you  come?" 

Wondering  what  he  could  mean,  Grace  called  out: 

^'^  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  moments,  Honore,"  and  then  fol- 
lowed AI{)honse  to  her  room. 

Scarcely  had  she  passed  through  the  door  than  Clinton 
sprang  from  his  chair,  and,  with  marvelous  agility,  climbed 
up  one  of  the  porch  supports,  and  crept  along  the  roof, 
until  he  was  under  Grace's  window. 

The  moon  was  not  yet  up,  and  the  darkness  was  sufficient 
to  conceal  him  from  all  but  very  prying  eyes. 

He  heard  the  room  door  open  and  shut,  and  he  could  feel 
that  each  was  waiting  for  the  other  to  speak. 

^*Well,"  said ^  Grape,  at  last,  'Mvhat  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

*'  I  want  one  thousand  dollars." 

*^  You  demand  it  like  a  highwayman,  as  if  I  must  give  it 
to  you." 

^'^  And  you  must,  for  I  need  it  badly." 

*^  I  have  no  such  sum,  as  you  must  know." 

*^  You  have  its  equivalent. ' 

^aiow?" 

"Diamonds  and  other  jewels." 

^^Why,  Alphonse  Gorinot!" 

^'Why,  Madame  Clinton  Hastings!" 

^^Ah!" 

It  was  a  quick  gasp. 

"AYell,  then,  give  me  the  jewels." 

^'Are  you  robbing  me?  Has  it  come  to  this?  Oh, 
Alphonse!" 

''  Come,  Grace,  that  won't  do.  You  ought  to  know  that 
when  I  call  you  Madame  Hastings  I  mean  something." 

^^  You  mean  to  force  me  to  do  your  will;  but  you  ought 
to  know  that  I  am  not  without  determination,  too." 

^^Bah!  If  you  will  have  the  truth,  which  I  was  willing 
to  keep  from  you,  know  that  a  man  who  witnessed  the  mar- 
riage has  found  me  out,  and  demands  a  thousand  dollars,  or 
jewels  equal  in  value  to  that  amount." 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^'Why  not  refuse?'' 

^^  And  have  him  tell  the  whole  story?  I  fancy  Marquis 
d'lberri  would  be  in  a  great  hurry  to  marry  Madame 
Hastings." 

^'He  would  believe  anything  I  told  him.     He  loves  me." 

'^  You're  a  fool,  Grace.  Suppose  this  man  were  to  tell  of 
the  marriage?" 

I  would  confess  it  and  say  my  husband  was  dead." 
A  fine  plan  that  would  be.     To  say  nothing  of  the  dis- 
grace of  the  secret  and  concealed  marriage.     You  could  not 
even  prove  that  Hastings  was  dead." 

'^But,  mo7i  Dieu,  you  told  me  he  was  dead.  Alphonse 
Gorinot,  if  you  have  deceived  me!" 

Grace's  sweet  voice  was  full  of  threatening. 

'^  I  haven't  deceived  you  at  all.  He's  dead  enough.  The 
man  who  is  here  is  the  one  who  killed  liim." 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  silence.  Then  Grace 
spoke. 

'  If  I  give  these  jewels  are  you  sure  he  will  leave  us  in 
peace?" 

^^  I  have  his  promise/' 

^^How  much  is  that  worth?" 

'^  I  don't  know,  but  I  do  know  that  if  he  is  kept  waiting 
much  longer  he  will  probably  come  here  to  find  me." 

^' Take  the  jewels.  Help  yourself.  But,  Alphonse,  can 
you  do  nothing  to  rid  us  of  this  man  for  the  future." 

The  voice  w^as  low,  sweet,  and  pleading,  but  Clinton  in 
his  concealment  shuddered  at  the  fearful  warning  that  was 
behind  the  words. 

Alphonse  laughed. 

*^  ril  try,  Grace.  Now  don't  let  young  moneybags  down 
stairs  see  that  you  are  disturbed.  Perhaps  you'd  better  stay 
here,. and  I'll  say  you  are  sick." 

''No,  I'll  go  down." 

''As  you  please.  I'll  go  to  my  room  and  fix  up  the  jew- 
els.    Good-by.     Sorry  to  have  troubled  you." 

When  Grace  returned  to  the  porch  Clinton  was  waiting 
for  her,  and  it  seemed  to  the  fair  young  creature  that  he 
was  never  more  tender  and  loving. 


96  THE  AMEllICAN  MARQUIS. 


CHAPTER  XXIX.  t 

CLINTOJ^   ADDS    TO   HIS  COLLECTIOJS".  j 

^^  You  don't  look  well  this  morning,  mon  ami.  | 

It  was  Bras-de-Fer's  salutation  to  Tete-de-Fer.  | 

'^  I  might  have  looked  worse/^  1 

*^  How  so?''  J 

Tete-de-Fer  opened  his  shirt  and  showed  a  wound  in  his' 
breast  near  the  neck. 

^^  Aha!     He  tickled  you,  did  he^ 

^^Yes/' 

^^And  you.     Did  you  not  return  the  compliment?'' 

^^He  was  too  quick.     Like  a  cat." 

'^  This  is  good — very  good." 

Bras-de-Fer  rubbed  his  hands,  and  looked  pleased. 

^'  I  am  glad  you  like  it.     I  don't." 

^'  Is  that  so?    I  am  sorry  for  that,  for  it  pleases  me." 

^^Why?" 

^^  You  will  hate  him  now." 

^^  You  want  me  hate  him?" 

^^Very  much." 

^' Why  not  let  me  tickle  him  then?" 

^^Oh,"there  is  no  hurry  about  that.  I  have  use  for  him 
yet.  When  I  am  through  I  will  turn  him  over  to  you.  Did 
you  get  the  knife?" 

•^  Yes;  here  it  is." 

^^  A  pretty  little  thing,  eh?  Why  did  you  let  him  do  it, 
when  I  warned  you  ?'' 

^^He  was  so  quick." 

^^Bah!     I  wonder  if  he  thinks  he  finished  you?" 

^^I  don't  know.  When  he  gave  me  the  jewels  I  put  them 
in  my  pocket,  and  then  he  jumped  at  me  and  gave  me  this. 
It  was  a  good  aim.  A  little  higher  and  I  would  have  been 
done  for.  I  fell  back  and  the  knife  slipped  out  of  his  hand. 
He'd  have  come  for  the  jewels,  I  guess,  but  some  people 
came  along  and  he  skipped.  I  got  up  and  found  I  was  only 
wounded,  not  seriously  hurt." 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  97 

'^  Good.  I'll  have  it  in  the  papers  that  you  are  dead,  so 
don't  let  him  see  you  again.     Where  are  the  jewels?'^ 

^^Here.'' 

''  They're  worth  a  thousand.  I'll  give  you  two.  Now  you 
may  leave  America  as  soon  as  you  please.'' 

^'  You  mean  you  want  me  to  go?" 

^^  Exactly." 

^^  Where  shall  I  go?" 

*^  How  would  South  America  do?" 

''  Good.     I'll  go  there." 

^^Tete-de-Fer?" 

^^Yes." 

^'  You'll  need  more  practice  than  you  have  yet  to  fool 
me." 

*  *  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

^^I  mean  you  lie!  You  are  not  going  to  South  America 
with  all  that  money  of  yours.  You're  going  to  Paris,  so 
your  sister  can  help  you  spend  your  fortune." 

Tete-de-Fer  looked  confused. 

'^  Mon  Dieur  continued  Bras-de-Fer,  in  a  tone  of  mock- 
ery. ''  What  a  tender  affection  between  brother  and  sister! 
It  quite  makes  me  weep." 

Tete-de-Fer  looked  up  from  under  his  eyebrows. 

^^Tell  that  dear  Elise,  when  you  see  her,  that  her  sisterly 
affection  made  Bras-de-Fer  weep." 

^' You  know  her?" 

''  I  know  everybody,  Robert  Caradoc.  I  know  the  pretty 
Elise  Candolet,  of  course.  But  there,  don't  be  jealous  of 
your  sister,  for  she  never  knew  me.  Only  don't  lie  to  me. 
Now  good-by,  and  unless  you  are  hung  in  the  meantime,  I 
shall  have  some  use  for  you  before  very  long." 

^'How  can  you  find  me?" 

Bras-de-Fer  laughed  sardonically. 

'^  Leave  me  alone  for  finding  pretty  women,  or  ugly  men. 
The  pretty  Elise  or  the  ugly  Robert.  Be  perfectly  tranquil, 
mon  ami.  And  now,  quick,  out  of  America,  for  by  to- 
morrow morning  the  papers  will  have  you  dead,  and  little 
pig-sticker  will  be  chuckling  over  his  good  aim.  Some  day, 
good  Robert.     Some  day,  eh?    You  will  laugh  then,  eh?" 

Tete-de-Fer  ground  his  teeth.  He  liked  neither  the 
pleasantry  of  his  master  nor  the  thought  of  waiting  for  his 
revenge;  but  he  did  not  even  dare  to  think  of  disobeying. 


98  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

Left  alone,  Clinton's  face  dropped  its  jovial  expression 
and  fell  into  the  old  stern  lines. 

^' More  "trophies!  Well,  at  least  my  task  is  easy  now.  I 
have  them  all  in  my  grasp,  every  one.  And  one  by  one  I 
will  tighten  the  pressure  on  them  until  they  all  shall  cry 
for  mercy. 

^'  Grace,  too.     The  gentle,  loving,  innocent  Grace!'' 

His  mocking  laughter  was  more  fearful  than  his  wildest 
denunciations  had  ever  been. 

'^  How  she  has  held  the  chords  of  my  heart  in  her  hand! 
And  the  tender,  seductive  tune  she  has  played  on  them! 

^^  The  blood-thirsty  tigress!  She  sends  a  man  to  his 
death  with  a  purr  of  divinest  love.  Inhuman  wretch,  how 
I  will  punish  you!  How  I  will  gloat  over  your  sufferings! 
Every  heart-pang  of  mine  shall  vibrate  tenfold  to  your 
anguish. 

'^  How  I  hate  you! 

^•' How  I  love  you! 

^^How  I  loathe  you,  scorn  you,  despise  you! 

^^  How  I  cling  to  you,  worship  you. 

/^  I  never  loved  you  more  than  now.  It  is  my  punish- 
ment, perhaps. 

^^  I  long  to  sit  by  your  side  and  drink  in  the  honey  of 
your  words!  to  revel  in  the  soft,  seductive  glance  of  your 
heavenly  blue  eyes. 

^^  I  am  eager  to  put  you  on  the  rack  of  fear,  to  tear  your 
soul  with  agony,  to  haunt  you  with  specters  of  your  past. 

^^  As  I  would  have  spent" my  life  in  proving  my  love,  had 
you  been  the  angel  you  seem,  so  I  will  now  spend  my  life 
in  inventing  tortures  for  your  cruel  heart. 

''  Ah,  I  can  reach  it,  incredible  as  may  be  its  wickedness 
and  harshness.  I  will  so  study  you  that  your  waking  hours 
shall  be  one  long  dream  of  horrors  aiid  your  sleeping  mo- 
ments ages  of  anguish. 

^'  Your  slave  I  am,  for  I  love  you  still.  Your  executioner 
I  will  be,  for  I  hate  you." 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  99 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FIXIKG   A   DAY. 

When  the  morning  papers  from  the  city  reached  the  little 
country  town,  Clinton  noticed  the  eagerness  with  which 
Alphonse  seized  one  and  scanned  its  columns. 

Passing  beliind  Alphonse  when  he  saw  that  his  attention 
was  fixed,  he  noted  accurately  which  portion  so  held  his  eye, 
and  waited  until  he  could  obtain  the  same  paper. 

When  he  did  so  and  turned  to  the  place  he  had  mentally 
noted,  he  smiled  grimly. 

He  read  this  paragraph,  telegraphed  from  a  small  city  not 
far  from  where  they  were  spending  the  summer: 

'♦Unaccountable  Suicide. — The  body  of  an  unknown  man,  evidently 
a  foreigner,  was  found  late  last  night  about  two  miles  from  the  city, 
on  the  turnpike  road.  It  was  still  warm  when  found.  A  small  dagger 
was  tightly  grasped  in  his  hand,  and  a  gaping  wound  in  the  chest, 
just  over  the  heart,  showed  how  he  had  come  by  his  death.  Suicide 
is  suspected,  as  valuable  jewels  were  found  on  his  person.  There  is 
no  clew  to  the  motive.  The  body  is  lying  in  the  morgue  waiting 
identification." 

An  accurate  description  of  Tete-de-Fer  followed  this 
paragraph. 

Alphonse  was  very  happy  during  the  remainder  of  the 
day;  and  graciously  accepted  the  check  for  a  thousand  dol- 
lars which  Clinton  offered  him. 

Durinor  the  early  part  of  the  day  Grace  seemed  nervous, 
but  a  brief  conversation  with  her  light-hearted  brother  had 
a  soothing  effect,  and  she  was  thereafter  her  own  sweet, 
loving  self. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  marquis  was  almost  fierce  in 
his  adoration  of  her,  and  she  smiled  tenderly  when  the 
avowals  of  his  love  were  unusually  vehement. 

They  were  sitting  together  in  a  favorite  spot  under  an 
apple  tree  on  the  brow  of  a  hill.  They  were  there  safe 
from  intrusion  or  concealed  observation. 

He  was  gazing  at  her  with  his  whole  soul  in  his  eyes. 


100  THE  AMEBICAN  MARQUIS. 

''Grace/'  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  ''Why  do  I  love  you 
so  passionately  ?'' 

She  smiled  bewitchingly. 

"I  don't  know,  Honore.  Not  on  account  of  my  deserts, 
I  am  sure.'' 

"Oh,  my  darling!  You  deserve  a  greater,  better  love 
than  mine.  You  are  so  pure,  so  innocent,  so  honest,  so 
loving.  Grace,  darling,  I  know  that  if  every  act  of  your 
life  were  spread  out  here  before  me,  I  could  find  not  one 
which  would  not  glorify  your  saintly  life. 

"  Don't  contradict  me.  I  know  what  you  'would  say. 
You  would  tell  me  of  faults.  Heaven  bless  you!  such 
faults  as  you  could  tell  of  would  only  intensify  the  white- 
ness of  your  soul. 

"  But  it  is  not  for  your  goodness  that  I  love  you.  I  loved 
you  just  as  madly  before  I  knew  you. 

"Ah!"  he  went  on  with  exquisite  fondness  in  his  voice. 
I  do  believe  you  have  cast  magic  spells  about  me. 

"But  I  am  glad  your  life  has  been  so  pure  and  inno- 
cent, darling.  I  am  glad  that  I  am  your  first  and  only 
love.  I  think  that  if  you  had  been  the  ordinary  sort  of 
woman,  ready  to  love  any  respectable  man,  free,  perhaps, 
with  caresses,  I — but  this  is  nonsense,  isn't  it,  dear?" 

"  Nothing  you  say  is  nonsense." 

She  spoke  faintly. 

"  You  cannot  wonder,  can  you,  though,  Grace,  dear,  if  I 
rejoice  in  your  freedom  from  guile?  I  am  happy  that  I 
can  say  that  my  lips  have  never  pressed  any  other  woman's 
but  yours,  in  love,  and  I  am  happy  that  yours  have  pressed 
only  mine.  Why,  Grace!"  he  started,  excitedly,  "  the  very 
thought  that  you  had  ever  spoken  words  of  love  to  any  other 
man  would  drive  me  distracted;  and,  if  it  were  possible  for 
me  to  believe  that  you  had  lavished  such  kisses  as  you  have 
given  me,  on  any  other  man,  I  would — would — why,  Grace, 

I  would Mon  Dien!  my  darling,  I  am  glad  you  cannot 

see  the  demon  which  my  idle  thoughts  have  stirred  up  in 
my  heart." 

"  Why  think  of  such  things,  Honore?" 

Grace  looked  pale  and  frightened. 

"There,  sweet  one,  forgive  me.  I  think  I  am  not  sane 
abou^t  my  love  for  you.  I  think  if  I  were  certain  that  I  was 
worthy  of  you,  I  could  be  more  serene.  But  when  I  am  in 
your  angel  presence  I  feel  most  my  unworthiness,  and  then 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  101 

I  think,  suppose  some  better  man  shvoirld^ic/me  aldng;  "and 

my   Grace   should But,    ah!   you    would   not,    would 

you,  Grace?     If  I  thought  the  man  lived  who  could  win 

your  love,  or  ever  had,  I  would — I  would Grace,  the 

thought  puts  murder  in  my  heart.  There,  don't  look  so 
frightened,  darling.  I  will  put  such  wicked  thoughts  far 
from  me.  Now  smile  at  me  with  that  smile  that  comes 
from  heaven,  and  enthralls  my  soul.  There,  now  tell  me 
that  you  love  me.  Open  those  dear  lips,  and  let  me  hear 
the  sweetest  music  my  ears  ever  listened  to.^' 

Grace  strove  hard  to  master  the  agitation  that  had  over- 
come her  as  she  listened  to  the  fiery  words  of  her  lover,  and 
looked  into  his  clear  gray  eyes,  now  blazing  with  fierce 
passion,  now  melting  in  tenderness. 

Honore!" 

Her  voice  trembled. 

*'l  love  you  with  my  whole  soul.  I  am  yours  ab- 
solutely.^^ 

Clinton  shuddered  as  the  tender,  seductive  tones  of  her 
sweet  voice  fell  upon  his  ear,  and  his  eye  drank  in  the  in- 
toxicating charm  of  her  heavenly  face,  whose  every  feature 
glowed  with  love. 

He  could  have  cried  out  in  a  very  paroxysm  of  passionate 
love. 

He  felt  that  he  could  not  exist  without  the  beautiful  crea- 
ture there  before  him,  and  no  hope  or  fear .  of  anything  in 
the  uncertain  future  could  have  induced  him  to  forego  her 
possession. 

'^When  will  you  be  my  wife,  Grace?  Let  it  be  soon.  I 
am  mad  with  fear  when  I  think  of  the  possibilities  that  lie 
between  us." 

"  It  shall  be  when  you  wish,  Honore.^^ 

"  You  will  let  me  fix  the  time?" 

^'  Why  not,  Ilonore?  You  are  my  greatest  happiness.  I 
know  your  love  too  well  to  be  afraid  to  confess  that  I  am 
eager  to  be  your  wife.'^ 

'^  Angel  !''^ 

^'  Not  an  angel,  Honore,  but  a  woman  who  worships  and 
adores  you." 


10?  THE  AiVIERICAN  MAEQUIS. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

EVERYBODY     HAPPY. 

The  wedding  of  the  beautiful  Gracie  Howard  to  the  hand- 
some and  wealthy  Marquis  d^Ibberi  was  a  great  event  in 
the  upper  circles  of  New  York  society. 

The  maidens  of  New  York  may  have  envied  Grace,  and 
surely  the  bachelors  must  have  envied  any  man  the  posses- 
sion of  such  a  woman  as  Grace  Howard. 

The  fashionable  world  studied  the  dress  of  the  bride,  and 
talked  of  her  wedding  gifts;  commented  on  the  bearing  of 
the  groom,  and  praised  his  magnificent  presents  to  his 
bride. 

Grace  and  her  husband  looked  only  into  each  other'e 
eyes,  and  were  happy. 

They  made  a  short  wedding  journey,  and  then  returned 
to  the  city,  where  they  intended  to  stay  a  few  months  before 
going  to  the  home  of  the  marquis  in  France. 

Everybody  was  happy. 

Grace  seemed  to  be  floating  in  an  atmosphere  of  joy.  She 
looked  so  distractingly  sweet  and  matronly,  her  husband 
told  her  that  he  would  some  day  shock  the  world  by  hug- 
ging her  in  public. 

"  And  I  wouldn^t  be  to  blame,  Grace,^'  he  said.  ^'You 
grow  more  lovely  every  day,  and  whenever  I  look  at  you  I 
want  to  take  you  in  my  arms  to  assure  myself  that  you  really 
belong  to  me.  If  you  don't  look  less  bewitching,  I  shall 
certainly  kiss  you  on  the  street,  or  anywhere.'' 

''  I'll  look  older  and  more  dignified,  then." 

Grace  looked  as  demure  as  a  Quakeress,  and  Clinton 
pounced  upon  her  and  covered  her  face  with  kisses. 

'^  Why,^'  she  exclaimed,  laughing  merrily;  '^  it  only  makes 
you  worse  when  I  try  to  do  better.  ^^ 

Yes,  Grace  was  happy. 

She  showed  it  in  every  word,  look,  and  act. 

The  happiness  showed  in  the  joyous  light  in  her  eyes;  in 
the  dimples  that  played  about  her  merry,  laughing  lips;  in 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  103 

the  coming  and  going  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  in  the  soft, 
warm  grasp  of  her  little  hand. 

And  Clinton? 

He  lived  in  the  happiness  of  his  bride. 

He  watched  the  love-light  in  her  eyes,  and  fed  his  heart 
on  the  precious  words  of  affection  that  fell  from  her  lips. 

He  sought  eagerly  every  opportunity  to  gratify  her  least 
whim.  He  told  her  that  before  they  were  married  he  had 
exhausted  the  language  of  love,  so  that  no  words  were  left 
to  tell  of  the  greater  love  that  possessed  him. 

And  Alphonse? 

Ah,  there  was  no  doubt  of  his  happiness. 

After  the  wedding  journey,  Clinton  had  taken  him  quietly 
aside. 

*^  Alphonse,  you  know  I  am  rich." 

''  You  have  proved  it  to  me.^^ 

Alphonse  smiled  pleasantly.  He  was  thinking  •f  the 
money  he  had  borrowed  of  his  foolish  brother-in-law. 

''  Well,  we  are  brothers  now,  and  there  ought  to  be  no 
false  delicacy  between  us.  You  know  I  am  willing  to  give 
you  as  much  as  you  ask  for.  Still,  it  must  be  annoying  to 
you  to  have  to  come  to  me  every  time  you  want  a  trifle. 

Alphonse  wondered  if  he  called  the  thousands  he  had 
borrowed  trifles.  He  waited  to  hear  more.  The  conversa- 
tion pleased  him. 

^'  I  have  figured  up  my  income  and  how  much  I  shall 
need,  and  I  find  I  have  a  surplus. 

'*It  is  not  much,  but  if  you  will  accept  it,  you  are  wel- 
come.    It  is  six  thousand  a  year.^^ 

Even  Alphonse  was  astonished  at  such  generosity,  and  he 
made  an  exclamation  to  show  it. 

*' Oh,  it  is  nothing, ^^  said  Clinton,  deprecatingly.  ^^I 
would  gladly  make  it  more,  only  I  have  fixed  my  expenses 
at  a  good  figure  and  it  only  leaves  this  much.'' 

"Ah/'  sighed  Alphonse,  "it  is  only  a  millionaire  who 
can  talk  of  such  sums  as  trifles." 

''The  worst  of  it  is" — Clinton  looked  troubled — "I  am 
afraid  it  is  not  enough  for  you." 

"Oh,  DTberri!     If  I  can't  get  along  with  that  and  my 
own  little  income  together,  it  would  be  odd," 
"  Then  it  will  be  quite  enough?" 
"Plenty." 


104  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

*^I'm  glad  of  that;  for,  you  know,  I  could  not  lend  you 
anything  now/^ 

^' Don't  speak  of  such  a  thing.  You  maybe  sure  I'll 
never  think  of  borrowing  from  you  any  more/^ 

Of  course  Alphonse  was  happy. 

Yes,  they  were  all  happy. 

Even  though  Honore  had  business  which  took  him  away 
from  his  wife  four  or  five  hours  each  day. 

He  was  arranging  to  sell  some  useless  property,  he  said, 
so  that  he  could  purchase  a  home  in  New  York. 

It  was  not  his  intention  to  exile  his  wife  from  her  native 
land.  She  should  have  a  home  in  each  country,  and  when 
she  was  tired  of  one  place  she  could  go  to  the  other. 

Grace  smiled  sweetly,  and  said  he  was  her  country,  and 
that  w^here  he  was  she  should  always  be  happy. 

^^  Ah,  my  darling,  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that." 

^^  Oh,  Honore,  you  surely  cannot  doubt  me  now!'^ 

^^  No,  my  angel,  I  do  not  doubt  you,  but  I  fear.^^ 

^^Fear  whatr 

^'  Why,  Grace,  I  can't  bear  to  have  a  man  look  at  you 
even;  and  if  I  consulted  only  my  own  wish,  I  would  take 
you  to  Chateau  d'Iberri,  and  stay  there  forever  away  from 
the  world.'' 

"  I  would  be  glad  to  go,  Honore." 

He  shook  his  head. 

'^  You  think  so  now.  But  it  is  lonely  there,  and  you  are 
used  to  society." 

There  was  an  uneasy,  troubled  look  in  his  eyes  that  re- 
called to  Grace  what  he  had  once  before  said  about  his 
jealousy. 

^^  Honore,  darling!" 

No  one  could  have  heard  her  tender  voice,  or  looked  into 
her  sincere  blue  eyes,  melting  with  love,  without  believing 
and  adoring. 

Her  husband  shuddered  and  looked  away,  as  she  con- 
tinued: 

"  I  care  only  for  you.  I  shall  be  happiest  when  I  am 
where  ycm  only  can  claim  my  attention,  where  upon  you 
only  can  my  eyes  fall,  where  to  you  only  can  I  speak.  My 
heart  is  so  full  of  love,  Honore,  that  every  day  my  lips  could 
say  new  things,  and  my  ears  never  tire  of  hearing  you  tell 
me  of  your  love. 

^'  Indeed,  darling,  I  wish  you  would  try  me.     Come,  let 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  105 

US  go  to  your  lovely  chateau,  and  I  will  promise  to  pass  my 
life  there  with  you  without  a  murmur,  except  of  love  and 
happiness,  and  my  willingness  to  live  only  for  you  and  with 
you. 

^^  Ah,  Honore,  you  do  not  know  my  heart  if  you  doubt 
it.  Come,  my  husband,  my  Honore,  take  me  at  my 
word.^' 

Clinton  devoured  Grace  with  hungry  looks,  as  in  her  low, 
sweet  voice,  full  of  passionate  earnestness,  she  told  him  of 
her  love  and  devotion. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  holding  her  close  to  him, 
gazed  into  her  eyes  with  an  eager,  yearniag  expression, 
as  if  to  coax  from  her  very  soul  a  corroboration  of  her 
words. 

''  You  do  not  doubt  me,  darling,  do  you?^^ 

She  lovingly  pleaded  for  an  answer. 

^^If  I  did  doubt  you,  and  you  asked  me  like  that  to  for- 
swear myself,  I  could  not  resist.  I  do  not  doubt  you,  Grace, 
for  if  I  did,  even  in  so  little  a  thing,  I  shudder  to  think  of 
what  my  heart  would  feel.^^ 

*^Then  promise  me  that  we  shall  go  to  your  chateau  and 
stay  there.  Oh,  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  be  the  first 
to  long  for  other  companionship.  I  will  be  such  a  loving 
little  wife,  and  will  so  cling  to  your  heart  that  you  will 
wonder  you  ever  could  fancy  for  one  moment  that  I  would 
not  be  satisfied  with  you  alone. ^^ 

His  face  lighted  up. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A   REMARKABLE    PICTURE. 

*^  You  shall  do  no  such  penance,  my  sweet  Grace.  We 
will  go  to  the  chateau.  If  you  can  stay  there  for  one 
year  without  wishing  to  leave  it,  I  will  promise  you  that 
after  that  you  may  have  your  own  will/^ 

'^  You  promise  me  that?^^ 

'^  I  promise. ^^ 

^'  Very  well,  then,  sir  doubter,  you  are  likely  to  spend 
your  life  in  your  ancestral  chateau.  And  if  you  catch  a 
nnirmur  on  my  lips,  or  detect  one  in  my  heart  during  that 
year  of  probation,  you  may— you  may — let  me  see  what  you 
may  do?^' 


106  THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS. 

She  looked  so  tempting,  with  her  rosebud  lips  drawn 
up  as  if  in  perplexity,  her  head  held  a  little  on  one  side, 
and  her  eyes  half  vailed  by  the  drooping  lids,  that  her  hus- 
band exclaimed: 

^^  I'll  fix  the  punishment  and  inflict  it  now/^ 

She  did  not  object  to  the  punishment,  seemingly,  for 
when  her  lips  were  free,  she  saucily  said: 

^'  Have  you  only  one  mode  of  punishment ?^^ 

Clinton  turned  hastily  away,  and  looking  out  of  the 
window,  answered,  hoarsely: 

^' Fifty.'' 

She  laughed  merril^y. 

^'Then  it  is  agreed.  One  year  of  probation.  When  shall 
we  start?     I  am  ready  now/' 

^^I  must  finish  my  business  here  first.  Then  off  we 
go,  eh?- 

''  Off  we  go.     And  see  who  tires  first.'' 

Tlie  Marquis  d'Iberri  was  never  very  precise  about  the  de- 
tails of  his  business  affairs,  and  never  told  anybody  where 
he  transacted  them. 

It  is  true  that  nobody  asked  any  questions,  for  the  only 
person  who  had  the  right  to  ask  was  Grace,  and  she  seemed 
to  care  only  that  Honore  was  with  her  again  when  he  had 
been  away. 

It  was  an  odd  way  to  go  about  selling  and  buVing  prop- . 
erty,  and  if  he  had  not  said  it  was  what  he  was  engaged  in, 
no  person  who  had    taken  the  trouble  to  follow  him  would 
have  believed  it  was  what  he  was  doing. 

When  he  had  taken  leave  of  Grace  with  as  much  affection 
as  if  he  had  not  expected  to  see  her  again  for  a  twelve-month, 
the  marquis  would  walk  down  town  some  distance,  turn  into 
an  unfrequented  side-street,  walk  along  it  to  another  street, 
and  so  on,  turning  and  turning  until  he  stood  in  front  of  a 
quiet-looking  house. 

Now,  if  anybody  were  following  him,  in  spite  of  his 
great  care  to  be  unobserved,  and  should  come  up  and  look 
him  in  the  face,  that  person  would  be  chagrined  to  discover 
that  it  was  not  the  marquis  at  all,  but  another  person. 

The  man  who  would  stand  a  moment  in  front  of  the  house 
and  then  enter  it  would  be  a  brown-bearded  young  fellow, 
not  unlike  the  Clinton  Hastings  who  once  painted  pictures 
in  Morlaix,  in  Upper  Britanny. 

Call  him  Clinton  Hastings, 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAKQUIS.  107 

Walking  up  stairs  as  if  he  had  the  right  to  do  so,  Clinton 
would  stop  before  a  door,  fit  a  key  into  its  lock,  open  it, 
and  walk  in. 

The  room,  it  would  be  found,  was  fitted  like  a  studio, 
and  Clinton,  it  would  be  seen,  was  at  his  old  work  of  paint- 
ing pictures. 

In  the  autumn  the  artists  of  New  York  have  an  exhibi- 
tion to  show  their  work,  and  fashionable  people  always  go 
to  the  exhibition. 

The  autumn  before  the  marquis  and  his  wife  went  to 
the  Chateau  dTberri,  there  was  the  usual  exhibition,  and 
on  the  opening  night  everybody  of  any  consequence  was 
there. 

Grace  was  fond  of  pictures,  and  she  went  for  that  reason, 
and  the  marquis  went  because  his  wife  wished  to  go. 

The  marquis  knew  very  little  about  art,  but  he  told  Grace 
tbat  if  she  only  would  tell  him  when  to  admire,  she  should 
have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  him. 

Most  fashionable  folks  go  on  opening  night  to  see  and 
be  seen,  and  so  it  was  crowded,  this  opening  night  at  the 
Academy. 

It  was  hard  work  to  have  an  opportunity  to  see  the  pic- 
tures, what  with  the  friends  who  wished  to  say  ^^how  do 
you  do?''  to  a  real  marquis,  and  with  the  crowds  who  cared 
very  little  what  they  said  so  that  they  said  something. 

A  few  there  were  who  went  to  see  the  pictures,  and  one 
of  these,  meeting  Grace  and  her  husband,  went  into  rhap- 
sodies over  a  life-size  painting  of  extraordinary  merit  by  an 
unknown  artist. 

It  hung  in  the  north  room,  where  comparatively  few  peo- 
ple were,  and  more  for  that  reason  than  to  see  that  especial 
picture  Grace  asked  to  be  taken  there. 

"Be sure  to  tell  me  if  I  am  to  admire  it,  Grace.'^ 

Grace  answered  by  a  loving  smile  and  a  pressure  of  the 
arm  she  was  leaning  on. 

Any  little  jest  of  Honore's  made  her  happy. 

A  number  of  persons  were  grouped  together,  all  looking 
at  one  large  picture,  evidently  the  one  in  question. 

They  took  up  a  position  to" get  a  fair  view  of  the  picture. 

Its  title  was  ''False  Vows  and  False  Faces.''' 

It  represented  a  blindfolded  man  and  a  masked  woman. 

The  woman,  standing  on  tiptoe,  had  her  hands  on  the 


108  THE  AMEKICAN  MAKQUIS. 

man^s  shoulders,  while  he  was  bent  over  a  little  to  receive 
the  kiss  which  her  upturned  face  seemed  about  to  olfer. 

His  face  was  full  of  eager  expectancy;  hers,  covered  by 
the  mask,  could  not  be  seen. 

She  was  marvelously  beautiful  in  figure. 

^^Is  it  good,  Grace  ?^^ 

They  had  looked  at  it  a  few  moments  in  silence. 

Grace  spoke  never  a  word. 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  picture  in  a  gaze  of  stony 
horror. 

Her  sweet  face  was  livid  and  agonized. 

^^Why,  Grace,  my  darling,  what  is  it?"  whispered  her  hus- 
band, in  terrified  tones. 

''  Save  me!'^  gasped  Grace.  ''  Save  me  from  him.  Take 
me  away.'^ 

She  turned  to  her  husband  in  a  piteous  appeal,  and  sank 
lifeless  in  his  arms. 

All  that  night  Grace  tossed  moaning  in  her  bed. 

Now  sleeping,  pursued  by  frightened  dreams;  now  wak- 
ing and  clinging  to  Honore,  who  slept  peacefully  through  it 
all. 

When  morning  came  and  Honore  asked  her  how  she  had 
passed  the  night,  she  made  no  answer,  but  laid  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

^^  Poor  little  Grace,^^  he  said,  soothingly,  ^'You  have 
had  too  much  gayety  lately.  You  need  rest.  Let  us  go  to 
our  old-fashioned  home  in  dear  old  France,  and  there  you 
will  be  away  from  all  this  turmoil. 

^^My  dear  little  bird!  Ah!  how  frightened  I  was  when 
you  fell  into  my  arms  so  limp  and  lifeless.  I  thought  I  had 
lost  my  Grace  and  I  was  nearly  crazy;  but  they  said  it  was 
only  the  heat  that  had  made  you  faint.  There,  now,  calm 
yourself,  my  darling,  and '^ 

^^And  you  will  take  me  to  your  home,  Honore?'^ 

She  interrupted  him,  eagerly  looking  up  at  him  with  her 
tear-stained  face,  beseechingly  as  a  little  child. 

^^  You  will,  won^t  you,  dear?^^ 

She  nestled  closer  to  him. 

^^  And  you  will  see  how  contented  and  well  and  happy  I 
shall  be.     I  shall  indeed,  Honore,  dear.^^ 

"'  Poor,  dear  little  Grace!  We  will  go  at  once  on  the  first 
steamer." 

He  tenderly  smoothed  the  golden  hair  with  his  hand. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  109 

*^Talk  to  me,  Honore/'  she  said,  suddenly,  ''Tell  me 
about  the  chateau/^ 

''Tell  you  about  the  chateau?  To  me  it  is  beautiful.  It 
has  nothing  modern  about  it.  Even  the  furniture  is  old. 
But  you  won^c  mind  that,  will  you?'^ 

"Not  with  you  there,  Honore.  If  I  have  you,  that  is  all.^^ 

^'  I  am  glad  of  that.  I  was  afraid  you  might  wish  me  to 
change  the  furniture.'^ 

"Never,  Honore!  If  you  like  it  best  so,  that  is  enough 
for  me.     I  only  want  you,  Honore.'^ 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  how  she  returned  to  that  idea,  as  if 
she  were  fearful  he  might  be  taken  from  her. 

He  noticed  it,  and  tried  to  reassure  her. 

"  Well,  you  have  me,  my  Grace.  Have  me  as  securely  as 
the  honest  vows  of  an  honest  man  and  an  honest  woman 
and  the  laws  of  France  and  America  can  bind  us.'' 

"Yes,  yes,  Honore,  I  know  I  have  you;  but  I  love  you 
so,  darling,  that  if  anything  should — but  you  will  always 
love  me,  won't  you,  my  hus — my  Honore,  my  true  love,  my 
everything  ?'' 

She  would  have  said  her  husband,  but  the  word  seemed 
to  sting  her,  for  she  started  up,  and  concluded  her  words, 
passionately  clinging  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

WHO  PAIKTED  THE  PICTURE? 

Honore  would  not  have  left  Grace  at  all  that  day,  had 
she  not  insisted  upon  it,  declaring  that  she  was  much  better. 

No  sooner  had  her  husband  left  the  house,  than,  with  fe- 
verish haste,  she  sought  Alphonse. 

"Are  you  sure  that  Clinton  Hastings  is  dead?" 

"Hello!     What's  up  now?'' 

"Tell  me,  tell  me!     Are  you  sure?'^ 

Grace  nervously  pulled  at  her  handkerchief. 

"  Why,  of  course,  I'm  sure.  As  sure  as  anybody  can  be. 
But  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  now?" 

"Have  you  been  to  the  Academy  yet?" 

"Certainly;  I  was  there  last  night." 

*'  Did  you  see  that  picture  in  the  north  room?" 

"W^hat  picture?  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Grace? 
Anything  turned  up  about  Hastings?" 


110  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^  There's  a  picture  in  the  north  gallery  of  a  blindfolded 
man,  who  looks  like  the  artist,  and  a  woman  in  a  mask:, 
dressed  exactly  as  I  was  that  niglit/^ 

^•' Well,  what  of  it?" 

''What  of  it?     Suppose  he  should  have  painted  it?'' 

^^If  he's  dead,  how  could  he?    Do  be  sensible,  Grace/' 

•^But  if  he's  not  dead?" 

^^He  is  dead,  I  tell  you;  but,  even  if  he  were  not,  it 
needn't  make  any  difference  to  you,  as  long  as  he  doesn't 
find  you  out."  ^ 

''  What!" 

Grace  drew  herself  np  proudly. 

''  Much  as  I  love  Honore,  sure  as  I  am  it  would  kill  me 
to  leave  him,  if  I  thought  Clinton  Hastings  was  alive,  I 
would  confess  everything." 

Grace  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  rocked  to  and 
fro,  sobbing  piteously. 

Alphonse  was  alarmed. 

Xot  at  the  disgrace  which  hung  over  his  sister,  but  at  the 
danger  which  threatened  himself. 

The  danger  of  his  having  his  six  thousand  a  year  with- 
drawn. 

^^  You  surely  would  do  no  such  silly  thing,  Grace?" 

^^  Alphonse,"  she  sobbed,  '^  if  Clinton  Hastings  were  alive, 
Honore  would  not  be  my  husband.  Oh,  my  brother,  help 
me  !  " 

''  AVhat  can  I  do?  Don't  I  tell  you  the  artist  is  dead?  He 
was  killed  that  very  night." 

'^  But  who  else  could  paint  the  picture?  Who  else  could 
have  known  the  details?" 

''A  mere  coincidence.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
Grace.  I'll  go  see  the  directors,  and  pretend  I  want  to  buy 
the  picture.     In  that  way  I  can  see  the  artist." 

''  Do,  Alphonse.  Go  now.  Eight  away,  that's  a  good 
brother." 

Not  because  he  was  a  good  brother,  but  because  he  was 
so  intensely  selfish,  Alphonse  set  out,  determined  to  bring 
back  such  a  report  as  would  satisfy  Grace,  and  turn  her 
from  her  project  of  confessing  to  D'Iberri  that  she  had  al- 
ready been  married. 

He  first  went  to  the  Academy  and  looked  at  the  picture. 
He  could  not  avoid  a  start  of  fear. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS.  Ill 

^^  This  is  not  a  coincidence/^  he  murmured;  ^^and  yet 
how  can  Hastings  be  alive?  Bah!  even  if  he  is,  he  cannot 
have  any  suspicion  of  who  we  are.     I  will  make  sure/' 

Inquiry  of  one  of  the  directors  brought  out  the  address, 
but  not  the  mime  of  the  artist. 

Alphonse  liastened  to  the  address  and  was  shortly  knock- 
ing at  the  door  of  the  studio  where  we  have  once  before 
been. 

^^Come  in.'' 

Alphonse  entered. 

The  artist  turned  with  a  smile  of  inquiry. 
'   Alphonse  gasped  and  turned  pale. 

Clinton  Hastings  sat  before  him. 

Sat  there  almost  as  he  had  once  before  sat  in  the  studio 
in  the  lowly  house  in  Morlaix,  before  the  masked  man. 

Alphonse  recovered  himself  in  a  moment. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  Clinton  Hastings  did  not  suspect 
him. 

"I  have  come  to  see  you,  sir,  about  your  famous  painting 
in  the  Academy. '^ 

Clinton  smiled. 

^'  You  are  the  tenth  this  morning.  I  am  much  flattered 
that  my  painting  is  successful,  but  it  is  not  for  sale.'' 

^^  Ah!     I  am  sorry  for  that.     I  had  set  my  heart  on  hav- 
ing it.     I  believe  in  encouraging  American  artists.'' 
••_    *^0h,  I'll  take  the  encouragement  without  the  money." 
"^  Alphonse  recognized   the   mockery   which   once    before 
had  driven  him  nearly  to  despair.     He  only  smiled,  how- 
ever. 

*'  It  is  an  odd  subject  for  a  painting." 

^^I  am  sure  it  must  be.  The  other  nine  gentlemen  who 
called  this  morning  to  encourage  me  said  the  same 
thing." 

Alphonse  bit  his  lip. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  like  criticism." 

^' Were  you  criticising?  How  stupid  of  m6  not  to  recog- 
nize the  fact." 

''  Stupid  or  discourteous!  I  don't  know  which,"  retorted 
Alphonse,  angrily. 

''  Sir,"  said  Clinton,  in  the  same  mocking  tone,  ^^  are 
your  eyes  in  good  working  order?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

^^No?     I  thought  the  question  simple  enough.     How- 


112     -  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

ever,  I  will  put  it  in  another  way.     Can  you  see  that  win- 
dow distinctly?'^ 

A  startled  expression  crept  into  Alphonse^s  eyes. 

''  Yes/'  he  replied,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  a  smile. 

^^That  is  very  odd,  then." 

^^Whatis  very  odd  r 

^^Why,  that  you  should  use  such  language  to  me  when 
you  know  there  is  a  window  handy. '^ 

Clinton^s  smile  was  as  mocking  and  his  tone  as  airy  and 
careless  as  ever  it  had  been. 

Alphonse  was  ghastly. 

''  I  do  not  understand/'  he  stammered. 

^^  That  is  not  strange,  ami,  it  is  so  long  ago  that  we 
talked  of  windows.''  i 

This  was  said  in  French.  | 

Alphonse  gasped,  looked  wildly  at  Clinton  a  moment,  and^ 
then  turned  and  fled  down  stairs,  pursued  by  the  mocking 
laugh  of  the  artist. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

ALPHONSE   YEARNS   POR  PRANCE. 

When  Alphonse  reached  the  street,  he  walked  hurriedly 
to  the  corner,  turned,  saw  he  was  not  followed,  and  then 
walked  aimlessly  about  for  a  full  half-hour. 

It  was  evident  to  him  that  he  was  known,  and  it  was  as 
certain  that  the  artist  must  know  about  Grace.  If  he  had 
not  known  all  he  cared  to  know,  he  would  certainly  have 
followed  him. 

What  was  to  be  done? 

For  his  own  sake,  he  must  keep  this  fact  from  Grace. 

He  might  do  it  for  a  time,  but  how  long,  must,  of  course, 
depend  upon  the  will  "of  the  artist. 

Could  he  in  any  way  rid  himself  of  the  artist? 

Now  he  regretted  the  death  of  Caradoc. 

And  yet  Caradoc  had  deceived  him  before. 

Ah,  if  he  could  only  do  it  himself! 

But  how? 

No,  it  would  not  do.     It  was  too  dangerous. 

If  he  only  had  him  in  Paris! 

There  he  knew  the  haunts  of  the  desperadoes,  and  could 
get  one  to  do  the  thing  for  him. 


b 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  113 


Why,  yes,  he  could  persuade  Dlberri  to  hasten  his  de- 
parture. 

Perhaps  the  artist  would  follow. 

If  he  did,  all  would  be  well.  If  he  did  not,  it  would  be 
better. 

Full  of  this  idea,  he  hastened  back  to  Grace,  and  assured 
her  that  he  had  seen  the  artist,  who  had  told  him  that  the 
scene  was  taken  from  an  old  English  play. 

And  as  for  the  artist  himself,  Alphonse  declared  he  was 
as  unlike  Hastings  as  was  possible. 

Anxious  to  be  reassured,  Grace  was  induced  to  believe 
this  story  with  very  little  difficulty. 

Nevertheless  she  could  not  overcome  the  shock  she  had 
received,  and  was  determined  to  urge  Honore  to  take  her  at 
once  to  his  home,  where  she  could  feel  free  from  any  chance  . 
of  similar  untoward  occurrences. 

She  told  Alphonse  of  her  intention,  and  he  warmly  ap- 
plauded the  idea  that  fell  in  so  well  with  his  own  wishes. 

He  sought  Honore  at  the  first  convenient  moment  that 
evening,  and  told  very  pathetically  of  how  anxious  Grace 
was  to  be  in  her  own  home  in  beautiful  France. 

And  Honore  assured  him  that  if  they  could  be  ready  in 
time,  the  steamer  of  three  days  later  should  take  them. 

^^  You  will  come  with  us,  will  you  not,  Alphonse?"' 

^*I  will  go  as  far  as  Paris,  anyhow.  I  don^t  know  about 
burying  myself  in  the  country."" 

"Giddy  fellow!'" exclaimed  Honore,  smiling. 

The  three  days  that  followed  were  anxious  ones  to  Al- 
phonse, who  expected  at  any  moment  to  hear  the  mocking 
laugh  or  the  jeering  voice  of  the  artist. 

He  haunted  the  house  in  his  fear  lest  Grace  might  by 
some  means  learn  of  her  husband"s  existence. 

What  did  he  care  for  her  scruples. 

He  did  not  even  pretend  to  himself  any  other  anxiety  than 
the  real  one.  He  did  not  propose  to  lose  his  comfortable  in- 
come if  he  could  help  it. 

Neither  his  sister's  honor  and  happiness,  nor  the  artist's 
life,  should  stand  in  the  way  of  his  pleasures. 

Grace  passed  the  time  in  a  condition  of  unrest  totally  un- 
like her  usual  sweet  composure. 

*  The  shock  she  had  received  had  made  her  timid  and  fear- 
ful. 

She  believed  Alphonse,  but  the  picture  kept  coming  up 


114  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

before  her  all  the  time,  and  she  could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea 
that  something  might  occur  to  make  the  incident  of  her  life 
known  to  Hon  ore. 

She  did  not  mean  to  deceive  him.  She  had  all  along  in- 
tended to  tell  him  about  it  before  her  marriage;  but  she 
had  put  it  off  until  he  had  told  her  so  vehemently  that  he 
could  not  brook  the  idea  that  she  could  ever  have  loved  or 
caressed  another. 

Then  she  felt  that  she  could  not  speak. 

She  could  not  lose  the  love  of  this  man  who  was  so  tender 
and  true,  so  brave  and  frank. 

She  had  been  glad,  positively  glad  when  she  had  thought 
that  she  might  die  with  him — die  without  having  to  tell  her 
secret. 

She  would  have  been  happy  could  she  have  told  him 
everything;  but  the  recollection  of  the  fierce  passion  he  had 
once  displayed  sealed  her  lips. 

The  thought  of  losing  his  love  almost  made  her  frantic. 

She  followed  him  about  the  house,  clinging  to  him  as  if 
she  could  not  let  him  be  away  from  her. 

He  soothed  and  petted  her;  humoring  her  every  whim, 
and  doing  all  he  could  to  reassure  her. 

He  talked  to  her  of  the  old  chateau,  and  told  her  how 
happy  they  should  be  there. 

Free  to  do  as  they  wished.  Nobody  to  please  but  them- 
selves. 

^^  You  will  live  for  me,  my  Grace,  and  I  for  you.  You 
must  be  happy  there,  darling,  for  my  heart  is  set  upon  it.^' 

^'Do  not  fear,  Honore,'^  she  replied.  '^I  shall  love  the 
chateau  if  you  are  in  it.  I  want  to  get  away  from  here  and 
be  where  you  can  be  by  my  side  all  the  time.  Will  you  tire 
of  that,  dear?'^ 

''Tire  of  it?  Come,  Fll  wager  a  kiss  you  will  be  the  first 
to  tire.'^ 

''  1^11  wager  and  pay  in  advance,  so  you  will  have  two  to 
pay  in  case  you  lose,  as  you  surely  will.'' 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

IN   FRANCE   AMONG   OLD   FRIEIsTDS. 

Each  member  of  the  little  party  had  some  special  cause 
of  gratification  in  the  fact  of  being  once  more  in  France. 


116  THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS. 

Honore  was  happy  because  Grace  had  gradually  been  re- 
covering her  former  cheerful  spirits,  and  was  now  quite  her- 
self again. 

Grace  was  happy  because  she  was  now  almost  in  the  se- 
cluded spot  where,  with  her  idol,  she  might  hope  for  per- 
fect peace  from  intrusion  and  trouble. 

Alphonse  was  happy  because  he  knew  the  artist  had  not 
come  on  the  same  steamer,  anyhow,  and  it  would  make  very 
little  difference  if  he  should  come  later,  for  he  hoped  to  have 
Grace  and  D'Iberri  out  of  Paris  in  a  few  days. 

They  did  not  go  at  once,  however,  for  Honore  had  con- 
siderable to  do  looking  after  neglected  business  affairs,  and 
Grace  was  occupied  not  unpleasantly  in  meeting  many  old 
friends. 

Alphonse  plunged  at  once  into  all  the  dissipations  of 
which  he  was  so  fond,  and  of  which  Paris  offered  him  such 
a  plenty. 

The  days  went  by  so  free  from  any  sign  of  Hastings  that 
Alphonse  had  almost  forgotten  him. 

One  evening  he  was  having  a  good  time  at  a  cafe  concert, 
ogling  the  women  in  approved  Parisian  style,  and  joking 
boisterously  with  his  friends,  when  some  one  tapped  him  on 
the  shoulder. 

^'  Bon  soir,  ami," 

It  was  Clinton^s  mocking  salutation. 

' '  Mon  Dieu  I    You  here  T' 

*'  I,  or  my  ghost;  and  between  ourselves,  I  think  it  is  I, 
for  I  am  very  sure  I  am  not  dead  yet." 

''What  do  you  want?'' 

^' Ah.,  mon  Dieu!  what  memories  that  question  awakes. 
Do  you  remember,  7nonami,  how  I  asked  you  that  question 
one  night  nearly  four  years  ago?  Ah!  I  shall  never  forget 
that;  your  answer  was  so  witty.'' 

^  Alphonse  had  drawn  him  one  side  so  that  their  conversa- 
tion should  not  be  overheard. 

''What  do  you  want?" - 

"That  was  not  just  as  I  put  it,  you  will  remember.  I 
said: 

" '  Which  shall  it  be,  my  money  or  my  life?' 

"And  you  answered,  so  wittily: 

"  'If  I  wanted  the  one  I  would  not  come  here;  if  I  want 
ed  the  other  I  would  wait  a  few  days.' " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  have  come  here  to  see  me?" 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  117 

''  Certainly.  But  I  can^t  help  thinking  of  that  night. 
Do  you  remember  how  you  wanted  to  postpone  the  episode 
of  the  window?  Dear  me!  how  delightful  it  is  to  go  over 
old  times,  isn't  it?^^ 

"  If  you  do  not  tell  me  your  business  with  me  I  shall  re- 
join my  friends.^' 

"  Why,  if  you  are  really  in  such  a  hurry,  I  suppose  I 
must  let  you  go.  Bon  soi7\  I  thought  maybe  I  could  tell 
you  what  I  had  to  say  on  the  way  home;  but  it  will  do  when 
you  join  us.^^ 

There  was  a  hidden  meaning  in  this  speech  that  made 
Alphonse  uneasy.     He  said: 

*^Join  you — where  ?^^ 

^'  At  home,  of  course.  You'll  be  home  by  and  by,  won't 
vou  ?'' 

^^'Home!     What  honied 

'^Oh,  there,  now,  don't  quibble  over  terms.  A  hotel  isn't 
home,  of  course^  exactly,  but  I  always  call  home  any  place 
where  my  wife  is." 

"Your  wife!" 

"Yes.  Why,  what's  the  matter  with,  you,  Alphonse? 
Have  you  forgotten  that  I  married  your  sister,  Grace?" 

The  artist  laughed  in  his  peculiarly  diabolical  way,  and 
Alphonse  felt  as  if  he  could  strangle  him  then  and  there. 

It  was  evidently  useless  to  resist.  He  must  in  some  way 
gain  time,  and,  in  the  meantime,  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  submit. 

He  put  aside  all  attempt  at  pretense  of  ignorance,  and 
with  a  laugh  he  endeavored  to  make  careless,  he  said: 

"I'll  give  in.  Wait  till  I  excuse  myself,  and  I  will  fol- 
low you." 

"  Always  the  same  obliging  fellow,  dear  brother." 

"I'll  oblige  you  yet,"  murmured  Alphonse,  under  his 
breath,  as  he  went  toward  his  friends  and  bade  them 
adieu. 

When  they  were  in  the  street,  Clinton  turned  to  him. 

'' Mon  ami!  disagreeable  as  it  may  be  to  you  to  recall  old 
memories,  I  must  for  a  moment  take  you  back  to  that 
November  night  when  I  made  the  gentle,  loving  Grace,  my 
wife.     You  offered  me  twenty  thousand  francs  then." 

"Ten  thousand,  if  you  please." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  will  not  quarrel  over  a  trifle;  say  twenty 
thousand.     I  refused  the  money  then.     I'll  take  it  now." 


118  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

'^  Oho/^  thought  Alphonse,  it  is  money  he  wants.  I  see 
my  way  clear  now/' 

Then  aloud: 

*^  But  if  I  have  not  the  money  now?^^ 

^^It  will  suit  me  just  as  well.  I  thought  Fd  ask  you, 
that's  all.  I  can  get  it  elsewhere.  Au  revoir.  Sorry  to 
have  given  you  any  trouble. '^ 

''  Hold  on.     I  didn't  say  I  did  not  have  it." 

^^  Oh,  no;  but  I  understood  you  would  have  to  borrow  it 
of  D'Iberri,  and,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  might  as  well  do  it 
myself,  bless  you!  He'd  give  it  to  me  for  Grace's  sake. 
Dear  Grace!" 

^^  You  shall  have  the  twenty  thousand  francs." 

'^How  much  did  you  say?" 

*^  Twenty  thousand." 

''  Did  it  sound  like  twenty?" 

^' It  did." 

•^Now,  that's  odd,  isn't  it?  Have  you  ever  noticed  how 
easy  it  is  to  make  mistakes?  I — well,  I  won't  say  I  said 
thirty,  but  that's  the  sum,  dear  brother.^^ 

^^  You  will  ruin  me." 

'^No,  no,  brother  dear,  don't  say  that.  Come,  let  me  go 
to  Dlberri,  to  Honore.     He  will  have  it." 

^^  Devil!" 

^^Ha!  ha!  Do  you  remember  how  I  thought  you  must 
be  the  devil  that  night?  Funny  how  things  come  about, 
isn't  it?" 

''  Will  you  give  me  a  week  to  get  the  money  in?" 

Alphonse  was  choking  with  rage  at  the  thought  of  being 
so  played  with;  but  he  was  powerless  for  the  moment. 

^^  A  week.  Well,  all  right.  Bring  it  to  me^  please,  at 
No.  27  Eue  d'Artois,  third  floor.  Always  high  up,  you 
see.  That's  on  account  of  the  windows,  you  know.  More 
convenient  to  drop  things,  or  people,  out  of.     An  revoir:'' 

Clinton's  mocking  laugh  rang  with  a  hateful  echo  in 
Alphonse's  ear,  and  he  could  have  torn  the  bitter  tongue 
from  the  artist's  mouth  with  his  own  hands. 

^^You  may  laugh  now,"  he  muttered,  ^^but  it  will  be  my 
turn  before  long." 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  119 


b- 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

OLD   AND   NEW  ACQUAINTANCES. 


Eobert,  you  are  a  fool!'^ 

The  speaker  was  a  woman.  A  rare  type  of  the  sensuous 
beauty  of  the  south  of  France. 

Full,  red  lips;  clear  olive  skin,  with  the  rich  blood  glowing 

underneath;  dark-brown  eyes;  heavy  jet-black  hair;  a  tiny, 

piquant  nose;  rather  heavy,  well-arched  eyebrows;  low  fore- 

.head;  small,  regular  teeth,  gleaming  white  behind  the  full 

lips. 

A  medium  height,  plump  contour,  serpent-like  grace  of 
motion. 

Now  lazy  and  languid  of  speech;  now  quick  and  full  of 
fire. 

It  was  with  a  lazy  drawl  that  she  complimented  Robert, 
who,  indeed,  was  none  other  than  our  old  friend  Tete-de- 
Fer. 

'^  Call  me  so  if  you  will,  Elise,^^  answered  Tete-de-Fer, 
with  more  graciousness  than  one  would  have  believed  such 
a  brute  capable  of.  But  I  tell  you  that  Bras-de-Fer  is  the 
devil.     If  I  do  it,  he  will  know." 

^'Bah!  And  are  you  to  starve  because  your  Bras-de-Fer 
is  not  here  to  say  help  yourself?^' 

^'Elise,  he  would  think  no  more  of  choking  me  to  death 
than  he  would  of  eating  an  oyster  alive.  Wait;  you  will 
see  him  some  day,  ^nd  you,  too,  will  agree  that  he  must  be 
obeyed.  He  said  to  me,  ^  Mon  ami,  do  not  touch  him!"  and 
not  even  for  you,  Elise,  will  I  do  it.^^ 

^^  As  you  please,  Robert, ^^  said  the  woman,  contemptu- 
ously. '^  But  when  I  leave  you  for  some  one  who  can  give 
me  what  I  ask  for,  do  not  howl  like  a  wild  beast  and  talk 
of  love." 

^' You  would  not  dare,  Elise.^^ 

His  eyes  blazed  with  jealous  fury. 

''Darer 

The  woman  spoke  quickly  now,  and  she  looked  like  a 
tigress. 


120  THE  AMEBICAN  IMAKQUIS. 

*'  Dare!  When  you  tell  me  something  Elise  Candolet 
does  not  dare,  then  talk.  Bah!  You  once  had  a  heart  of 
iron,  but  since  you  met  your  wonderful  Bras-de-Fer  you 
have  exchanged  it  for  a  chicken^s/^ 

'^  What^s  the  use  of  being  cross,  Elise?  I  tell  you,  you 
don^t  know  him/^ 

Tete-de-Fer  was  almost  as  submissive  before  this  woman 
he  adored  as  he  was  before  Bras-de-Fer  whom  he  feared. 

''He  is  a  man,  isn^t  he,  and  only  a  man?  Did  you  ever 
see  a  man  who  would  say  what  I  should  or  should  not  do?^' 

''  That  is  because  you  are  so  beautiful,  Elise.  All  men. 
must  do  as  you  bid.^^ 

^'Fah!  You  make  me  sick.  Beauty!  I  know  I  have 
it;  but  it  is  not  that  men  are  afraid  of.  It's  my  claws  and 
my  teeth.  Men  look  at  me,  and  know  I  will  scratch  and 
bite  deep.'' 

''You  can  be  fearful,  Elise." 

Tete-de-Fer  spoke  admiringly. 

*' Ah!  And  you  pretend,  maybe,  you  do  as  I  tell  you 
from  love.  I  do  not  say  you  do  not  love;  but  it  is  fear — 
Eobert,  fear — that  makes  you  do  my  will.  Love!  Cielf 
If  you  only  loved  me,  you  would  beat  me.  I  know  you,  , 
Eobert;  and  I  tell  you,  you  must  ask  that  young  French-' 
American  for  more  money,  or  I  will  leave  you." 

"And  I  will  kill  you  if  you  do/' 

"If  you  can." 

"  I  could  strangle. you  now  as  I  would  a  baby;  you  are  not 
Bras-de-Fer." 

"  Do  it." 

She  threw  back  her  head,  as  if  inviting  him,  but  her 
hand  clutched  something  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and  her 
brown  eyes  were  black  in  their  rage. 

Tete-de-Fer  laughed  uneasily. 

"'  I  was  only  joking." 

"  Liar!  You  do  not  dare  lay  a'  finger  on  me!  You  know 
what  it  would  cost  you." 

"Now,  what's  the  use,  Elise,"  he  said,  coaxingly,  /^to 
get  into  a  tantrum?  Maybe  I  was  mistaken  about  the 
man." 

"  Don't  play  the  fool  with  me,  Robert.  It  was  the  man. 
There  you  stand,  with  a  scar  on  your  ribs  now,  of  his 
making,  and  you  talk  to  me  of  your  Bras-de-Fer!  I 
swear  to  you — and  you  know  if  I  keep  my  oaths — that,  if 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  121 

you  do  not  bring  me  some  money — five  thousand  francs — 
this  night,  1  will  leave  you!'"* 

^'  But  if '' 

''ISO  'but  ifs/     I  have  said  it/' 

''  All  right,  Elise.  I  will  do  it;  but  I  know  Bras-de-Fer, 
and  you  do  not/' 

''  Bah!  If  your  Bras-de-Fer  turns  up,  bring  him  to  me, 
and  we  shall  see  if  he  can  scare  me/' 

''When  shall  I  go?'' 

''  Mon  Dieul     Go  now,  now,  now!" 

Tete-de-Fer  opened  the  door. 

"  I  will  go,  but " 

"  How  many  huts  you  make." 

''Give  me  a  kiss,  then." 

"Not  a  kiss  till  I  have  the  money." 

''  Au  revoir,  then.     Ah!  mon  Dieu!    He  here!" 

"Why,  yes,  ami,  I  am  here.  Why  not?  What  more 
natural?  Introduce  me  to  your  sister — that  sweet,  pretty, 
loving  sister,  of  whom  you  have  told  me  so  little,  and  I 
know  so  much.'' 

"Eh!  mon  Dieu!  Who  is  this,  then,  that  comes  unan- 
nounced into  people's  rooms?" 

There  was  a  dangerous  flash  in  the  brown  eyes. 

Elise  guessed  in  a  moment  that  the  cool,  easy-going  in- 
truder was  the  Bras-de-Fer,  of  whom  she  had  heard  so 
much. 

She  surveyed  him  with  an  angry  stare. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  an  air  in  which  curiosity,  amuse- 
ment, impudence,  indifference,  and  admiration  were  pro- 
vokingly  mingled. 

The  warm,  southern  blood  flushed  her  cheeks,  and  the 
brown  eyes  blazed. 

Passion  was  quick  and  vehement  with  Elise.  She  had 
already  hated  the  man  for  his  power  over  Tete-de-Fer. 

Now  she  hated  him  for  his  cool  and  easy  assumption  of 
power. 

She  would  show  him. 

"  This  is  my  apartment.     Get  out." 

The  round  throat  swelled  like  a  cobra's,  almost,  and  the 
shapely  little  hand  pointing  to  the  door  fairly  quivered  with 
the  transport  of  rage. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  like  you  best  so,  or  when  you  are  more 
languid.     Beautiful  anyhow," 


122  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

Bras-de-Fer  spoke  with  the  cool  unconcern  of  a  critic,  and 
eyed  the  angry  woman,  with  head  on  one  side,  as  if  exam- 
ihing  a  statue. 

Tete-de-Fer,  somewhat  angry,  somewhat  awed,  somewhat 
curious,  silently  watched  to  see  which  of  his  superiors  would 
come  oi!  victor. 

Elise  emitted  a  low,  stifled  shriek  of  rage. 

This  man  dared  to  laugh  at  her, 

^' Out,  out!" 

She  could  hardly  speak  the  words. 

The  outstretched  arm  waved  passionately  toward  the  door 
and  a  foot  stamped  vehement  emphasis  on  the  floor. 

^^  Yes,  on  the  whole,  I  like  you  best  so.  Very  beautiful, 
indeed/' 

The  nervous  little  hand  sought  the  pocket. 

A  bound,  a  flash. 

A  little  dagger  cut  the  air,  and 

A  low  laugh  from  Bras-de-Fer. 

The  woman  sat  on  the  lounge. 

^^  Poisoned,  eh?'' 

Bras-de-Fer  examined  the  glistening  steel. 

'*Yes,  it's  poisoned.  Madam,  accept  my  sincerest  hom- 
age. You  and  I  shall  be  able  to  do  good  work  together.  I 
have  looked  for  just  such  a  woman  a  long  time.  Fm  glad  I 
have  found  you  at  last.     It's  all  right,  ami," 

Turning  to  Tete-de-Fer. 

^^N"o  need  for  jealousy.  Loving  is  out  of  my  line.  I 
merely  wanted  such  a  woman,  and '' 

He  looked  calmly  at  the  furious  creature  he  had  forced  to 
sit  down. 

^^I  have  found  her." 

Tete-de-Fer  stared  from  one  to  the  other. 

He  accepted  what  Bras-de-Fer  said,  just  as  he  said  it. 
He  had  told  Elise  she  did  not  know  him.     Now  she  did. 

And  Elise? 

Bras-de-Fer  had  laughed  at  her  fury. 

She  had  struck  her  fangs  at  him. 

He  had  still  laughed. 

She  looked  at  this  man  again. 

She  knew  within  herself  that  this  man  was  her  master. 
Woman-like,  she  accepted  the- situation. 

Woman-like,  she  did  not  say  so. 

*^Some  other  time/'  she  said. 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  123 

Bras-de-Fer  no  longer  smiled  provokingly.     He  smiled  in 

miration  now.     He  tendered  her  the  dagger  again. 

•*Elise,  you  are  one  woman  in  a  million.     Nobody  can 

0  this  as  well  as  you.  Take  it,  and  take  with  it  the  hom- 
age of  a  man  who  has  never  come  so  near  failing  to  conquer 
a  iiumau  being.  Forgive  me  if  I  have  succeeded  with  you. 
1 1  was  a  harder  struggle  than  it  seemed.  Will  you  give  me 
your  hand?" 

She  was  completely  conquered. 

She  put  her  hand  in  his. 

rete-de-Fer  was  crazy  with  jealousy. 

Yet  he  dared  not  say  a  word. 


a 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

ARRANGIKG   FOR  A   FUNERAL. 

^^  This  is  my  friend  Bras-de-Fer.  He  has  something  to 
say  to  you." 

^^  Right  in  here,  messieurs — in  here.^' 

"  Stay  outside.  Monsieur  Caradoc.  If  I  wish  you  I  will 
send  for  you." 

In  nowise  offended  at  such  a  disposal  of  him,  Tete-de-Fer 
satiw  the  main  room  of  the  low  cabaret,  while  Bras-de-Fer 
and  the  landlord,  a  tall,  white-bearded,  asthmatic  old  ras- 
cal, went  into  an  inner  room. 

'*  Now,  monsieur,"  said  Bras-de-Fer,  abruptly,  ^'see  if  I 
know  you  well.  You  would  sell  your  own  mother  if  you 
got  a  good  price — is  it  not  so?" 

"  Monsieur!" 

Tlie  old  man  spoke  indignantly. 

''Oh,  well,  I  s'pose  you  have  no  mother;  but  if  you  had 
you  would  sell  her.  Come,  no  nonsense.  Is  there  any- 
thing you  would  not  do  for  a  thousand  francs?^' 

''That  depends.^' 

A  very  expressive  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  Depends  upon  the  danger  I  suppose?^' 

"Exactly.^' 

*'  Good!     There  is  no  danger  in  this.^' 

^' What  must  I  do?" 

*'  Remain  in  that  room,^' pointing  to  an  adjoining  room, 
''until  I  let  you  out.'' 

''  And  what  will  you  do?" 


124  THE  AjMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^'  That  is  not  your  business/^ 

'*But  I  must  know.'^ 

*^You  must  not.  Come!  1  offer  you  one  thousand 
francs  to  stay  one  hour  in  that  room.  Will  you  say  yes? 
Quick  r 

"  Monsieur  must  know  that  there  are  many  men  who  come 
here  who  do  not  wish  to  be  seen  or  known,  and '^ 

"  Bah!  You  mean  that  escaped  convicts,  men  wanted, 
and  thieves,  murderers,  etcetera,  come  here;  and  that  you 
must  be  on  hand  all  the  time.  I  know  that  and  have  pro- 
vided for  it.  Will  you  take  my  offer?  I  am  in  a  hurry. 
Quick  !^^ 

'^  Monsieur  can  see.^^ 

^^I  can  see  you  are  an  old  fool,  and  that  it  is  useless  to 
reason  with  you;  therefore '' 

Bras-de-Fer,  with  a  combined  coolness  and  dexterity  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  the  most  accomplished  garroter, 
caught  the  old  man  by  the  neck,  and  had  gagged  him 
before  he  could  utter  more  than  the  faintest  sound. 

Then  he  bound  him  securely  and  carried  him  into  the 
next  room,  where  he  stowed  him  comfortably  away  under 
a  bed. 

Having  done  this  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  wig  and 
false  whiskers. 

He  then  took  off  his  eyebrows,  and  various  other  peculiar 
features,  which  made  the  difference  between  Bras-de-Fer 
and  Clinton  Hastings. 

The  wig  and  whiskers  were  put  on,  and  paint  and  other 
disguising  agents  were  used,  and  monsieur,  the  landlord, 
appeared  where  Bras-de-Fer  had  but  just  stood. 

Bras-de-Fer  had  evidently  studied  his  make-up  in  ad- 
vance of  his  visit. 

He  passed  out  into  the  main  room  and  took  his  place 
behind  the  bar. 

He  beckoned  to  Tete-de  Fer. 

"  Do  you  answer  for  this  friend  of  yours,  this  Bras-de- 
Fer?'^ 

Never   doubting  it  was  the  landlord  who  spoke,  Tete-d| 
Fer  answered  unhesitatingly. 

^^  Certainly.     Why?'^ 

^^  Because  I  suspect  him  for  a  detective.     Is  he?^' 

Tete-de-Fer  stammeringly  denied  that  his  friend  was  any 
such  thing. 


I 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  125 

But  the  other  shook  his  head. 

^^  I  am  sure  he  is,  and  I  suppose  he  has  deceived  you.  I 
was  so  sure  that  when  I  got  him  inside  I  drugged  him  and 
took  off  his  false  eyebrows  and  whiskers.  He  is  in  there 
now,  tied  well."" 

^^And  drugged  ?^^ 

Tete-de-Fer  spoke  eagerly. 

''  Drugged.  Sound  asleep.  He  is  a  detective.  Will  you 
do  him  r 

There  was  a  fierce  jov  in  the  man^stone. 

'  Take  me  to  him r" 

/First  tell  me  will  you  do  him?'^ 

'  Gladly  as  I  would  a  dog." 

^*One  would  think  you  hated  him.^^ 
Hate  him!     Take  me  to  him.     He  has  played  with  me, 
as   he   would  with  a  child,  and  made  me   do  his  bidding. 
Take  me  to  him.^' 

Inwardly  laughing^  Clinton  led  the  way  into  the  inner 
room. 

''  Now  promise  me  you  will  kill  him.^' 

^'  I  will  kill  him  though  I  die  the  next  minute.^^ 

^^  Is  your  knife  ready  ?^' 

Tete-de-Fer  drew  it  from  an  inner  pocket. 

^'  Ho,  ho!^^  laughed  Clinton,  in  the  tone  of  Bras-de-Fer. 
^*How  you  must  hate  me,  indeed,  poor  Robert.^' 

The  ferocious  expression  of  Tete-de-Fer^s  face  passed  into 
one  of  amazement,  and  from  that  into  one  of  sheepish 
chagrin. 

''1  wanted  to  try  my  disguise,  ami"  said  Clinton;  so  put 
up  your  knife  for  the  present.  You  may  find  an  oppor- 
tunity to  use  it  on  me  some  day,  but  not  yet.^^ 

And  Clinton  laughed  in  his  mocking  way. 

*'  Now  let  us  return  and  wait  for  our  friend.  You  go 
first.     I  would  be  afraid  to  have  you  behind  me  just  now.'^ 

Again  Clinton  laughed,  and  Tete-de-Fer  ground  his  teeth 
in  silent  rage. 

They  had  not  been  in  the  main  room  long  before  Al- 
phonse,  in  a  very  thin  disguise,  entered  the  cabaret.  He 
went  at  once  to  the  bar  and  spoke  to  the  landlord. 

^'  I  want  to  see  you  alone  for  a  few  minutes. '' 

^•'  Yes,  monsieur.  Will  monsieur  come  into  this  little 
room?    Now  monsieur  can  talk  without  fear  of  listeners/^ 


126  THE  AMERICAN  MASQUIS. 

*^  There  are  one  thousand  francs.  I  want  you  to  find  me 
a  man  I  can  depend  upon/^ 

Clinton  made  a  pretense  of  eagerly  pocketing  the 
money. 

■''  What  does  monsieur  want  the  man  for?  Is  it  for  a — 
that  is,  do  you  want  him  to  arrange  a  funeral  for  you?  Eh? 
He,  he!^^ 

"  It  is  for  that/'  exactly.'' 

The  answer  was  as  calm  as  if  it  was  only  the  life  of  a 
chicken  that  was  in  question. 

'*'A  funeral,  eh?  Let  me  see.  Will  to-morrow  night  do, 
or  must  you  have  him  to-night?'' 

'' To-night,  if  possible." 

'^  I  can  give  you  the  address  of  a  man,  if  you  like.     He 
does  not  come  here,  because  he  has  made  some  enemies  on 
account  of  a  funeral  he  arranged  only  a  short  time  ago." 
-   ''  Is  he  a  sure  man?" 

*' Never  fails." 

^^Give  me  his  address." 

''  Ask  for  Bras-de-Fer,  No.  150  Eue  d'Argent." 

Alphonse  left  without  ceremony,  and  a  few  moments  later 
Bras-de-Fer  and  Tete-de-Fer  followed,  the  landlord  having 
been  released  and  aftervvard  mollified  by  a  present  of  the 
thousand  francs  left  by  Alphonse. 

Dismissing  Tete-de-Fer,  Clinton  hurried  to  the  room  he 
had  taken  in  Kue  d'Argent,  and  arrived  there  sufficiently 
long  before  Alphonse  to  be  ready  to  receive  him. 

He  was  lying  on  a  lounge,  smoking  a  vile  cigar,  when  a 
rap  sounded  on  the  door. 

''  Come  in,"  he  shouted. 

Alphonse  entered. 

Bras-de-Fer  sprang  to  his  feet  and  pointed  a  pistol  at 
him. 

'^  Well,  who  are  you?    What  do  you  want?    Quick!" 

Alphonse  smiled. 

*^I  have  business  for  you." 

Still  the  pistol  pointed  at  him. 

^^Put  that  thing  away;  I  am  from  old  Daddy  Braune." 

Bras-de-Fer  lowered  the  pistol  slowly,  as  if  his  suspicious 
were  only  half  allayed. 

^^  And  what  does  he  want  of  me?" 

^'  He  says  you  know  how  to  arrange  a  funeral  for  me." 

*^  Ah!     And  you.     Who  are  you?" 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  127 

''  What  does  that  matter  so  that  I  pay  you  well?'" 

^^How  much  will  you  pay?'' 

^^  How  much  do  you  want?" 

^'I  don't  want  anything.     Good-night,  monsieur.'' 

*^  Oh,  come!     I  will  pay  you  five  thousand  francs." 

^'Five  thousand  thunders!  Say  twenty  thousand,  and  it's 
done;  say  less,  and  you  waste  breath.'' 

''  It  is  a  high  price." 

^'It  is  mv  price.     Good-night." 

''  I  will  give  it." 

'^  Good !  And  who  is  the  man,  and  how  shall  I  find  him? 
Tell  me  everytliing." 

^'His  name  is  Clinton  Hastings.  He  lives  at  No.  27 
Eue  d'Artois." 

"Good!" 

"He  is  an  artist.  He  is  expecting  me  to  send  him  some 
money  this  week.  I  will  give  you  the  money,  and  you 
can " 

^' Do  as  I  please  with  it.     Good.     Give  me  the  money." 

"Yes,  friend  Bras-de-Fer,  after  the  deed  is  done.  It  will 
not  be  so  easy,  for  he  is  a  powerful  man." 

''  Very  well,  monsieur.     Good-night." 

"You  will  doit  then?" 

"I  y^'iW  not  ^o  it." 

"How?    Not  doit?" 

"Not  until  you  give  me  the  money  first." 

"But — well,  never  mind.  I  will  give  you  half  first,  and 
the  other  half  afterward." 

"All  or  nothing." 

*'  But  you  may  fail." 

Bras-de-Fer  laughed  boisterously. 

"I  never  fail." 

"But  suppose " 

*^  Suppose  I  should  take  your  money  and  not  do  your 
work.  Suppose  it  if  you  like.  Ask  Daddy  Braune  if  I 
work  that  way.  I  did  not  seek  you.  You  came  to  me. 
My  terms  are  cash  in  advance.  If  you  don't  like  them  go 
else  vv  here." 

^  Alphonse  studied  the  brutal  face  and  muscular  propor- 
tions of  Bras-de-Fer,  and  decided. 

"  I  will  bring  you  the  money  to-morrow  night." 
"  Yes,  and  I  know  how  you  will  get  it,"  said  Bras-de-Fer, 
when  he  had  closed  the  door  on  Alphonse. 


128  THE  AMElllCAN  MAEQUIS. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

1 

ALPHONSE    STUDIES  THE  BANKI:N^G   SYSTEM. 

The  next  morning  Alphonse  entered  the  room  where  the 
Marquis  d'Iberri  sat  making  out  checks. 

^' Ah!'^  exclaimed  Alphonse,  carelessly;  ^'balancing  your 
accounts,  I  suppose?'^ 

^^No.  I  never  do  that.  It  is  too  much  trouble.  When 
I  run  short  at  the  bank  they  let  me  know.  I  ought  to 
look  over  my  checks  at  the  end  of  the  month,  but  1  never 
do.^^ 

*^I  should  think  that  would  be  dangerous.^' 

^*Why  dangerous?'' 

^^  Because  if  anybody  should  forge  your  signature  well 
enough  to  pass  the  bank,  you  would  never  find  it  out.'' 

'^  Oh,  come  now,  Alphonse,  you  can't  scare  me  into  bet- 
ter business  habits.     I  know  I'm  careless,  but  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  take  the  trouble  of  overhauling  my  checks  every 
month  on  the  chance  of  finding  a  forgery.'' 
:-  Alphonse  laughed  pleasantly. 

''  I  wouldn't  either  if  I  were  you/'  he  said. 

The  marquis  continued  making  out  checks,  tearing  them 
from  his  check-book,  and  pushing  them  hastily  into  a  pile 
at  one  side  of  his  desk. 

Alphonse  had  taken  up  a  book,  and  while  pretending  to 
read  it,  was  all  the  time  watching  his  brother-in-law. 

Presently  a  maid  came  and  told  the  marquis  that  Grace 
wished  to  see  him. 

^'I'll  be  gone  about  fifteen  minutes,.  Alphonse.  Will  you 
be  here  that  long?" 

''  I  guess  so." 

^^  Well,  then,  I  won't  take  the  trouble  to  lock  these  things 
up." 

The  marquis  hastened  away. 

Alphonse  listened  intently  until  he  heard  the  marquis 
shut  the  door  of  Grace's  room. 

Then  he  crept  softly  to  the  desk,  and  hastily  ran  over  the 
checks. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  129 

^^  AkV  he  muttered.  "  Here^s  one  for  a  thousand,  pay- 
able to  bearer.  It  will  be  easier  to  alter  that  than  to  risk  a 
signature/' 

With  these  words  he  slipped  the  check  from  the  pile, 
and  placed  it  in  the  waste-basket  under  some  torn  bits  of 
paper. 

^'  There!  "Now  if  he  misses  it  and  makes  a  fuss  about  it, 
ril  help  him  find  it.'^ 

Alphonse  was  in  his  seat,  buried  in  his  book,  when  the 
marquis  returned. 

Merely  glancing  at  his  brother-in-law,  the  marquis  wrote 
a  few  more  checks  and  closed  the  check-book. 

Then  he  took  a  pile  of  bills  and  commenced  sorting  them, 
putting  with  each  ope  a  check  to  pay  it  with. 

Alphonse  watched  him  stealthily. 

Finally  the  marquis'took  a  bill  and  searched  vainly  among 
the  checks  for  the  one  to  pay  it. 

^^Humr'  he  muttered,  half-aloud.  ^'I  thought  I  had 
made  a  check  for  this;  but,  I  suppose,  I  didn't.^' 

Thereupon  he  opened  his  check-book  again,  and  made 
out  another  check. 

Alphonse  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief, 

''  We  are  going  to  filberri  in  a  week,  Alphonse,^'  said 
the  marquis,  as  he  arose  to  go.  ^^  I  suppose  you  won't  go 
with  us.'' 

''  No,  I  thank  you.     Paris  is  good  enough  for  me.'^ 

When  the  marquis  had  left  the  room,  Alphonse  picked 
tlie  check  out  of  the  basket,  and  placing  it  in  his  pocket, 
went  to  his  room  and  locked  himself  in. 

Later  in  the  day  he  presented  himself  at  the  bank,  and 
handed  in  a  check  for  twenty-one  thousand  francs. 

The  teller  being  accustomed  to  paying  checlcs  to  Alphonse, 
handed  him  the  money  without  a  word. 

During  the  afternoon  the  marquis,  with  a  troubled  expres- 
sion on  his  face,  hurried  into  the  bank,  and  asked  to  see  the 
cashier  in  private. 

When  they  were  alone  together  the  marquis  exhibited  the 
most  profound  grief,  and  seemed  with  difficulty  to  command 
himself  enough  to  say: 

^^  Monsieur,  I  come  to  you,  not  only  as  to  the  manager  of 
this  institution,  but  as  to  a  man  of  honor  in  whom  I  have 
confidence." 

''  Why,  my  lord,  what  can  have  happened?" 


130  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

'^  Alas!  such  a  misfortunel  I  hardly  have  the  courage  to 
tell  you/' 

*^  Have  you  met  with  losses  in  speculation?'^ 

''If  that  were  all,  I  would  be  happy.  No,  my  millions 
are  untouched.  I  fear — but  tell  me,  monsieur,  have  any  of 
my  checks  been  cashed  to-day?" 

''  I  will  see/' 

The  cashier  went  out,  and  returned  in  a  few  moments 
with  half  a  dozen  checks. 

''Are  they  all  genuine?'^  asked  the  marquis. 

The  cashier  carefully  scanned  them. 

"  Yes." 

"Thank  Heaven!  Then  I  may  be  mistaken.  Let  me 
see  them.'' 

He  looked  them  over,  and  suddenly  started. 

"  May  I  ask  who  presented  this  one  for  twenty-one  thou- 
sand?" 

The  cashier  went  out  and  asked  the  paying-teller. 

"  Monsieur  Gorinot,"  he  said,  when  he  returned  to  the 
marquis. 

The  latter  uttered  a  groan,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  wife!  If  she  should  ever  learn  of  this! 
Monsieur,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  startled  cashier, 
*'  this  is  an  altered  check.  Look  closely  and  you  will  see. 
I  made  it  out  for  one  thousand  francs,  and  it  was  stolen 
from  my  desk  while  I  was  out  of  the  room.  Oh,  monsieur, 
advise  me.     What  shall  I  do?" 

"  He  ought  to  be  arrested." 

"  Oh,  no,  no.  I  do  not  care  for  him,  but  my  poor  wife! 
The  ingrate!  Why,  monsieur,  I  gave  him  thirty  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  yet  he  steals  from  me." 

"Marquis,  the  cashier  spoke,  sternly,  "justice  demands 
that  such  a  rascal  should  be  pvinished." 

"Yes,  monsieur,    yes,"  said   the  marquis,    sadly,  "but 
think  of  my  poor  wife,  who  is  an  angel." 
^    "  But  it  is  my  duty,  marquis,  to  inform  against  him." 

"  Listen,  monsieur.  It  will  kill  my  wife,  and  if  you  in- 
form against  him  you  will  punish  my  wife  and  me.  This  is 
the  first  offense,  remember." 

"  Yes,  but  in  these  cases  the  first  is  soon  followed.  I  know 
your  brother-in-law.  He  is  very  dissipated,  and  if  he  finds 
this  passes  unnoticed  he  will  try  it  again." 


THE  AMEIIICAN  MARQUIS.  131 

The  marquis  was  silent  for  several  minutes.  At  last  he 
spoke. 

'^  Monsieur,  it  must  not  be.  At  least  let  me  try  to  reform 
him.     For  my  innocent  wife's  sake  let  this  pass." 

The  earnestness  of  the  marquis  deeply  affected  the  upright 
cashier. 

''  I  consent  then  for  this  time.'^ 

^'  You  must  do  more  than  that.^^ 

^^How!     More?'^ 

'^  Yes,  monsieur.  I  know  that  Alphonse  will  resort  to 
forgery.  I  am  sure  of  it,  but  I  feel  that  I  can  reform  him 
in  time.  What  I  wish  to  do  is  to  leave  fifty  thousand  francs 
with  you  as  a  fund  against  his  forged  checks.  If  I  do  not 
reform  him  before  that  is  gone  I  will  let  the  law  take  its 
course." 

This  seemed  a  strange  way  to  go  about  reforming  a 
forger,  and  the  cashier  at  first  refused  to  accede  to  the  plan, 
but  was  finally  persuaded  when  the  marquis  promised  not 
to  interfere  if  the  effort  at  reform  should  fail. 

The  marquis  left  the  bank,  grief  written  in  every  line  of 
his  face,  but  when  he  was  in  his  carriage  the  grief  gave  way 
to  grim  satisfaction. 

' '  I  think  I  have  paved  the  way  for  your  punishment,  my 
murdering,  forging  brother-in-law. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A     HARD     MAI^     TO     KILL. 

'^  Good-day,  monsieur.     Have  you  the  money ?^^ 

It  was  Bras-de-Fer  who  spoke,  Alphonse  who  answered. 

^^Yes.     Count  if 

Bras-de-Fer  slowly  counted  and  carefully  examined  the 
notes. 

'*  Eight.     When  can  I  see  your  man?'^ 

^^  To-night  if  you  wish.  He  is  at  home,  for  I  came  that 
way,  and  inquired.  ^^ 

''  Good.     There  will  be  a  funeral  without  mourners.^' 

''You  will  not  fail?'' 

^'Diable!     I  tell  you  I  never  fail/' 

''  But  he  is  a  powerful  man." 

''And  I?    Lookr 


132  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

''  Bras-de-Fer  took  up  a  heavy  poker  and  bent  it  double 
without  any  seeming  effort. 

'^  Why  else  am  I  called  Iron- Arm?  Bah!  Listen.  You 
want  to  know  how  I  will  do  it?'^ 

"  Monsieur  Hastings,  here  is  your  money  from — who  shall 
I  say  sends  it?" 

'^  The  man  of  the  black  mask." 

^^Good.  Monsieur  Hastings,  here  is  your  money  from 
the  man  of  the  black  mask. 

'*  I  throw  it  on  the  table.  Some  of  it  falls  on  the  floor. 
Like  that.     See? 

^'^He  stoops  to  pick  it  up.     I " 

He  drew  a  long,  sharp  dirk-knife  from  his  coat,  and  made 
a  rapid  lunge,  as  if  into  the  back  of  a  stooping  man. 

''  He  says  '  oh !'    That  is  all. 

'^Ho,  ho!     You  could  do  it  yourself  another  time." 

Even  Alphonse  was' sickened  at  the  sight  of  the  gleeful 
brutality  of  Bras-de-Fer,  and  waiting  only  to  caution  him 
to  be  very  careful,  he  hurried  away. 

That  night  Alphonse  was  nervous,  but  he  drowned  that 
in  wine. 

The  next  night  he  was  happy  because  the  morning  papers 
had  told  of  the  murder  of  an  American  artist  at  No.  27 
Rue  d^Artois. 

Alphonse  celebrated  his  release  by  an  orgy  begun  in  one 
of  his  favorite  cafe-concerts,  and  designed  to  end  in  a  more 
secluded  den  of  vice. 

*  He  drank  his  first  glass  of  champagne  in  silent  praise  of 
the  mighty  Bras-de-Fer. 

His  second  glass  was  raised  to  his  lips,  and — fell  from  his 
trembling  hand. 

His  comrades  laughed.     They  thought  it  was  a  slip. 

Pale  as  death,  Alphonse  asked  to  be  excused  for  a  few 
moments,  and  left  the  table. 

Clinton  Hastings  was  waiting  for  him. 

^^  Ah,  my  dear  brother!  I  knew  I  should  find  you  here, 
and  I  came  at  once  to  reassure  you.  I  was  so  afrtiid  you 
might  believe  that  paragraph  in  the  paper,  and  I  knew  how 
sad  it  would  make  you." 

^^  What  do  you  want  now?" 

Alphonse  could  hardly  speak. 

^^  Why,  you  see  that  clumsy  fellow  you  sent  the  money  by 
must  have  made  a  mistake,  for  he  only  gave  me  twenty  > 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  133 

thousand  francs.  May  belie  kept  the  other  ten.  Anyhow, 
he  didn't  give  it  to  me,  and  I  thought  you'd  be  obliged  to 
me  if  I  told  you  right  away.^' 

Alphonse  could  not  tell,  from  the  mockery  in  Clinton^'s 
manner,  what  had  really  taken  place  between  him  and  Bras- 
de-Fer.  He  decided  to  act  as  if  he  was  innocent  of  any  evil 
design. 

^*The  villainT^  he  exclaimed;  ^^  I  gave  him  the  full 
amount. '' 

*^  The  wretch!  And  he  only  gave  me  twenty  thousand. 
I'm  awfully  sorry  for  you,  brother!" 

•Sorry  for  me!     Why?" 

"  Because  I  must  have  the  other  ten  thousand  to-morrow, 
and  I  am  afraid  it  will  push  you  to  lend  it  to  me." 

*'  I  can't  do  it.     Positively  can't." 

^^Well,  of  course,  if  you  can't,  you  can't.  I  guess 
'D'Iberri  will  have  it,  or  Grace  will,  may  be,  so  never  mind. 
Au  revoir/' 

"  What  time  to-morrow  will  you  be  at  home?" 

^^  All  day,  dear  brother,  for  your  sake.  Shall  I  see  you 
then^" 

"  Yes." 

''  Thank  you.  Good-by.  Oh,  I  say,  brother  dear,  please 
come  yourself.     I  don't  like  your  messengers." 

Alphonse  only  nodded  his  head. 

Clinton  persisted,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

''  l^ut  you  will  be  sure,  will  you  not,  dear  brother?  I 
feel  that  I  must  see  you.  I  cannot  let  the  long  days  go  by 
without  a  glimpse  now  and  then  of  your  happy  face.  Until 
to-morrow,  then,  eh?" 

"  I  will  bring  the  money  myself  to-morrow." 

''Alt  revoir,  then,  dear  Alphonse." 

Alphonse  looked  after  his  tormentor,  and  said  to  himself: 

^•Another  check,  and  a  signature  this  time!  How  came 
that  ruffian  to  fail?  How  came  that  paragraph  in  the  paper? 
If  I  have  to  do  it  myself,  you  mocking  devil,  it  shall  be 
done.  Now  I  must  go  see  that  Bras-de-Fer,  and  learn  what 
happened." 

A  muffled  voice  bade  him  enter,  when  he  knocked  at 
Bras-de-Fer's  door. 

He  found  that  personage  lying  on  a  lounge,  his  face 
bandaged,  one  hand  sw^athed  in  cloths,  and  one  arm  in 
splints  and  a  sling. 


134  THE  AiVIERICAN  MAKQUIS. 

^^Ah,  monsieur,  I  have  been  expecting  you.  You  see 
me?  Well,  Bras-de-Fer  has  found  his  master.  That  artist, 
that  American,  is  the  devil.  ^^ 

^^And  after  all  your  boasting,  you  failed.  And  my 
money  ?^^ 

Bras-de-Fer  looked  very  sheepish. 

''  Wait  a  little.     I  will  succeed  next  time.'^ 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  money ?^^ 

"  Monsieur,  I  swear  to  you  that  artist  shall  die.^' 

^'But  the  money  you  did  not  earn,  where  is  it?^^ 

''All  dialle  with  your  money!'^ 

Bras-de-Fer  started  up  in  a  rage. 

"  Do  you  say  money  to  me  again  and  I  will  tear  you  witli 
my  teeth!  What  I  said  I  will  do  I  will  do.  But  give  nie 
time.^' 

"  Vile  beast!''  muttered  Alphonse.  Then  aloud,  sooth- 
ingly :  ' '  Tell  me  how  it  happened  ?''  • 

'^Tell  you!  Yes,  I  will  tell  you.  I  knocked  at  his  door. 
*  Come  in,'  said  he. 

"  I  went  in.  He  was  daubling  away  on  a  picture.  lie 
did  not  turn.  ^  Oh,  ho,'  said  he,  and  I  could  see  that  ha 
saw  me  in  a  mirror.  ^  Are  you  a  brother  of  my  friend  ?  I 
have  met  three  of  his  brothers  already.' 

"  *  I  know  nothing  about  your  friend  or  his  brothers/ 
said  I,  for  I  was  mad  to  have  him  laugh  so  easy  as  he  was 
doing. 

"  '  I  have  come  to  bring  you  some  money  from  the  man  of 
the  black  mask.' 

"  '  Oh,  ho,'  said  he,  ^my  old  friend  of  the  window,  eh? 
And  you  are  not  his  brother?^ 

"  ^ISTo,  lam  not  his  brother,  you  laughing  devil,' said  I. 

/'^'Ho,  ho!'  he  laughed  again,  and  I  wanted  to  choke 
him. 

'^^  There  is  your  money,' said  I,  throwing  the  money  on 
the  table,  as  I  told  you  I  would.     *  Count  it.' 

" '  Pick  up  what  fell,'  said  he. 

'^  ^  Pick  it  up  yourself,'  said  I. 

"  ^  Ho,  hoi'  he  laughed.    '  Must  I  make  you  pick  it  up 

"^Make  me?    I'll  make  you!'  and  with  that,  I  was 
mad  with  his  laughing,  that    I    jumped  at  him  with 
knife. 

^'  But  he  caught  hold  of  me  like  a  vise,  and  laughed  in 
my  face. 


"9 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAKQUIS.  135 

"  I  struggled.     He  took  the  knife  away. 

'^  '  ril  give  you  something  to  remember  me  by/  said  he 
and  he  slit  my  nose. 

*'I  grabbed  the  knife  and  cut  my  hand.  He  laughed 
again.  ^ 

'^Then  he  threw  me  away,  and  said,  ^Pick  up  that 
money.^ 

*a  said,  ^  Nor 

''  He  laughed,  and  broke  my  arm  with  a  chair. 

'' '  Pick  up  that  money/ said  he. 

^^  And  I  picked  it  up.  But  I  hate  him.  I  can  hear  him 
laugh  now;  and  I  tell  you,  monsieur,  when  I  am  well,  he 
dies!'' 

It  was  an  uneasy  night  that  Alphonse  passed.  He, 
too,  seemed  to  continually  hear  the  diabolical  laugh  of 
Clinton. 


chapt:^r  XL. 

THE  MISTAKE  ELISE  MADE. 

^'  How  are  the  turtle  doves  to-day  ?'' 

Bras-de-Fer  had  unceremoniously  entered  the  apart- 
ment of  Elise,  and  had  caught  Tete-de-Fer  with  his  arm 
about  her. 

*^  At  least,''  growled  Tete-de-Fer,  "you  might  knock." 

'^  Tush,  Eobert,"  said  Elise,  smiling  sweetly  at  the  in- 
truder. "You  are  too  formal.  Between  friends  no  cere- 
mony, eh?" 

'•Quite right,  my  pretty  Elise;  but  your  Eobert  is  such 
a  gentleman  that  he  believes  in  knocking.  He  always 
does  it  himself.  I  remember  a  bank  we  visited  once  to  study 
its  system — or  wasn't  it  at  that  bank  you  knocked  so  hard? 
Never  mind;  it  was  some  bank,  and  he  thought  the  janitor's 
head  was  the  door.     Ciel!  how  he  knocked!" 

Bras-de-Fer  treated  Tete-de-Fer  to  one  of  his  provoking 
laughs,  and  then  continued,  addressing  Elise: 

"  We  are  going  to  bid  you  good-by,  my  butterfly!" 

"We?    Who? 

"Your  Robert  and  I." 

"  I!" exclaimed  Tete-de-Fer.     "  Where  am  I  going?" 

"  You  are  going  to  DTberri^after  five  thousand  francs," 

"And  you,  where  are  you  going?" 


136  THE  AMEHICAN  MARQUIS. 

^'  That  is  none  of  your  business,  but  I  will  tell  you.  I 
am  going  to  London  now,  but  you  will  hear  from  me  if  you 
do  not  see  me  at  D'Iberri." 

^^  But  I  do  not  like  going  to  D^Iberri/^ 

^^Elise,  do  you  hear  that  fellow?  He  says  he  does  not 
wish  to  go  and  bring  away  five  thousand  francs/^ 

Elise  curled  her  lip  in  scorn,  and  leaned  lazily  back  on 
her  lounge. 

^*He  wants  to  live  in  idleness  on  my  savings,"  she 
said. 

^^  It  is  not  so!''  exclaimed  Tete-de-Fer. 

^^  It  is  so.     I  know  you.'' 

^^Well,  I  will  not  go." 

Elise  shrugged  her  round  shoulders  and  looked  at  Bras- 
de-Fer. 

*^  You  hear  him.     He  says  he  will  not  go.'^ 

Bras-de-Fer  laughed. 

^^  He  always  says  that,  but  he  always  goes/^ 

''  This  time  I  will  not  go." 

Again  Bras-de-Fer  laughed. 

^'This  time  you  will  do  as  you  always  do — you  will  go. 
Tell  him,  Elise,  that  if  he  does  not  go  you  will  leave  him." 

'^  You  hear.^"  said  Elise,  obediently.  ^'  Go,  or  I  will  leave 

you.- 

Tete-de-Fer  stared,  then  scowled  and  stamped  his  foot. 

''  I  will  not  go.     It  is  a  trick  to  get  rid  of  me,  ami." 

Bras-de-Fer  did  not  laugh  now;  he  was  grim. 

''Ami,  look  at  me.  So!  Do  I  mean  what  I  say  when  I 
tell  you  ^Go?'" 

Tete-de-Fer  shuffled  his  feet,  and  tried  to  evade  the  pene- 
trating gray  eyes. 

^^  Answer  me!" 

^'Yes." 

''  And  you  say  you  will  not  go?" 

''  But  if  you  stay  and  Elise  stays " 

*  *  Ass!     Did  I  not  say  I  was  also  going  away?*' 

^^  But  when?" 

"  Do  you  question  me?    You!" 

Tete-de-Fer  trembled. 

^^I  do  not  question,  but " 

^'  Did  you  say  you  will  not  go?'* 

"If  I  go?" 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  137 

^^  If  you  go?    Do  you  say  you  will  not  go?^^ 
"  No/' 

Bras-de-Fer  laughed  again  now. 

''  Do  you  see,  Elise,  what  a  fool  this  Robert  of  yours 
is?'' 

^•'  I  have  long  seen  that.'' 
.  ^^  But  do  you  know  what  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

Elise  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

Tete-de-Fer  stood  sullenly  by  devouring  his  anger  and 
humiliation. 

•'^Heis  jealous." 

And  Bras-de-Fer  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  in  which  he  was 
joined  by  Elise. 

^^  Jealous  of  me!  Why,  you  poor  fool,  I  have  not  made 
love  to  Elise  yet.  When  I  do  you  will  have  some  cause,  you 
mav  be  sure." 

'^'  What  must  I  do  in  Dlberri?" 

*'  You  will  go  to  the  mayor  and  tell  him  who  you  are — 
that  is,  so  far  as  the  marriage  at  the  chateau  is  concerned." 

^^  And  then?" 

^^Then  you  will  say  in  that  polite  way  of  yours:   'Mon- 
sieur the  Mayor,  one  thousand  francs,  if  you  please.'    He 
.  will  squirm,  but  you  will  insist,  and  then  he  will  give  it  to 
you.     But  take  care — he  will  tickle  you  if  he  can." 

^' And  then?" 

^^Then  you  will  enjoy  yourself  quietly  in  the  country  for 
a  few  days,  and  goto  him  again  and  again,  until  you  have 
five  thousand  francs." 

''  Yes." 

''  After  that  wait  for  me.     I  shall  be  near  you." 

^^  When  must  I  go?" 

"  In  half  an  hour.  You  catch  the  train  then.  Now  I 
am  off.     Au  revoir,  pretty  Elise." 

Bras-de-Fer  went  down  stairs  laughing. 

Tete-de-Fer  followed  him  half  an  hour  later  cursing. 

Half  an  hour  after  that  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  Elise,  lying  on  the  lounge  with  her  hands  clasped  under 
her  head,  said: 

"  Come  in." 

Clinton  Hastings  put  his  head  in  and  smiled  diffidently. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,  but  I  thought  I  heard 
a  man's  voice. 


138  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.) 

^'  What  of  it?'^  she  demanded,  insolently. 

^'Nothing,  indeed/'  stammered  he;  "'but  I  would  not 
otherwise  have  intruded.     I — I  beg  your  pardon/' 

Elise  smiled.     This  modest  young  man  amused  her. 

''  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.     What  did  you  want?" 

''  It  was  the  time.  My  clock  has  stopped.  I  am  sorry  to 
have  to  trouble  you." 

Elise  smiled  again. 

'^Are  you  my  neighbor,  then?" 

^'The  next  room,  mademoiselle. *' 

^  indeed!" 

Elise  looked  bewitchingly  interested. 

*^Yes,  mademoiselle,  since  yesterday  week." 

^'  Do  come  in,  monsieur.  There  is  the  clock.  I  am  too 
lazy  to  move.  Sit  down  for  a  moment.  What  is  your  oc- 
cu23ation?" 

•'  I  am  an  artist,  if  you  please,  mademoiselle." 

Clinton  made  a  great  show  of  embarrassment,  to  the  ex- 
treme delight  of  the  mischievous  Elise,  who  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  the  amusement  of  a  flirtation. 

^' An  artist!     And  do  you  paint  portraits?" 

''When  I  can  get  them  to  paint." 

Elise  laughed  merrily.  This  innocent  young  man  pleased 
her. 

''If  I  were  rich,  you  should  paint  my  portrait." 

"If  mademoiselle  wishes,"  exclaimed  Clinton,  eagerly; 
"money  is  not  necessary.  It  would  be  so  much  happiness  to 
paint  such  beauty.     If  you  only " 

Clinton  stopped  in  embarrassment. 

Elise  shook  with  mirth.  The  young  man  was  an  easy 
victim. 

"Why,  monsieur,  if  you  talk  like  that  I  shall  be  proud. 
When  shall  we  commence?"  ;; 

"Now,  if  you  will."  :i 

"Here?" 

"No.     In  my  room.     I  have  better  light  there." 

"Come  along." 

Elise  led  the  way  out. 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  139 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

ALPHONSE   IS   SHOCKED. 

^^^N'ow/^  said  Clinton,  when  they  were  in  his  studio,  ^*if 
mademoiselle  will  say  how  she  Avill  pose,  we  may  begin  at 
once.  But  first  let  me  mix  my  paints.  Excuse  me  for  a 
few  moments." 

Clinton  went  behind  a  screen,  and  Elise  employed  her 
time  looking  at  some  very  hideous  daubs  scattered  about  the 
room.     Suddenly  she  was' startled  by  a  voice: 

''  Hold!     What  does  the  pretty  tiger-cat  here?^' 

^^Bras-de-Ferr 

*^  At  your  service,  my  pretty  Elise.  del/  but  would  not 
that  poor  Robert  be  crazy  if  he  could  come  home  and  find 
you  here?'^ 

^'But  you,  Bras-de-Fer,  how  came  you  here?'^ 

^'  How  came  I  here?  Why,  that  is  good!  Is  not  this  my 
room  T' 

^^And  the  artist?" 

^^  What  artist?" 

*'  He  who  came  to  my  room/^ 

''How  should  I  know  the  artist  who  came  to  your 
room  T^ 

"  But  he  whom  I  followed  here?" 

Elise  pulled  aside  the  screen,  and  seeing  no  one  there, 
stared  at  Bras-de-Fer. 

''Well,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  find  so  strange  there?" 

"Bras-de-Fer,"  she  said,  going  up  to  him  and  speaking 
earnestly,  "tell  me  what  this  means?" 

Bras-de-Fer  laughed  pleasantly.  He  had  gone  far  enough 
with  the  mystification.  * 

"  It  means  that  I  and  the  artist  are  the  same." 

"The  same?" 

"Yes;  if  mademoiselle  pleases,  I  am  an  artist  some- 
times." 

Bras-de-Fer  had  taken  the  manner  of  the  artist. 

Elise  clapped  her  hands. 

"  I  shall  believe  Robert  now.     You  are  the  devil!" 


140  THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS. 

^^  Poor  Robert!     Can  you  guess  why  I  sent  him  away?" 

Elise  looked  admiringly  at  him,  and  did  not  answer. 

^*0h,  no/^  said  he,  noting  the  admiration,  ^-'not  that  I 
am  going  to  rouse  the  demon  of  jealousy  in  his  brea&t,  but 
not  on  my  own  account/^ 

Elise  flushed. 

She  felt  foolish  at  having  made  such  a  mistake  as  to  sup- 
pose he  was  in  love  with  her. 

She  was  not  angry,  however. 

''Elise,  I  am  going  to  take  you  into  my  confidence. ^^ 

She  looked  pleased. 

''  A  man  I  hate  is  coming  here  to-day,  to  give  me  some 
monev.  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  my  revenge.  Will 
your 

''  Bras-de-Fer,"  said  Elise,  ''since  the  day  you  conquered 
me^  you  have  been  my  master,  I  think. ^^  She  held  her  head 
down  and  went  on:  "I  think  you  never  will  love  me,  but 
I  love  you.     I  will  do  whatever  you  ask." 

He  looked  at  her  kindly  for  a  moment  and  took  her  hand 
in  his. 

"My  pretty  little  Elise,  I  am  very  sorry.  I  never  can 
love  you.  I  already  love  a  woman  who  has  my  whole  heart. 
I  am  very  sorry.     It  is  better  to  be  frank  with  you.''' 

The  tiger-cat  was  no  longer  visible  in  Elise.  She  trem- 
bled when  he  took  her  hand,  and  her  voice  was  husky  when 
she  spoke. 

"  It  was  folly  in  me  to  think  of  it  even  for  a  moment. 
But  never  mind.  I  will  do — will  be  happy  to  do  anything 
you  ask.  I  will  do  whatever  you  ask.  I  will  not  make  you 
4:hink  of  this  again.  I  know  what  you  are.  You  will  never 
change.     At  least,  you  respect  me?" 

"Respect  you  and  admire  you,  Elise." 

"  Well,  ami,  what  can  I  do  for  you?^' 

"I  will  give  you  full  instructions." 


A  few  hours  later,  a  soft  voice  bade  Alphonse  enter. 

"I  am  looking  for  Monsieur  Hastings,"  said  Alphonse, 
gazing  in  wonderment  at  the  beautiful  creature  lying  on 
the  lounge. 

"  Are  you?" 

Half  impudently,  half  pettishly. 

"  Does  he  live  here?" 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  141 

^^He  says  he  does/^ 

**  Well,  doesn't  he?     May  I  come  in?" 

*'  I  don't  care/^ 

^^But,  my  little  beauty " 

^'  Don't  call  me  your  Tittle  beauty/* 

^^  How  savage  you  are!^" 

^'  Wouldn't  anybody  be  savage?^' 

She  half  rose  on  her  elbow  in  well-feigned  excite- 
ment. 

"Here  Fve  been  waiting  for  him  two  hours  and  more. 
Is  he  a  king  or  an  emperor,  that  he  treats  me  so?  He  shall 
see  if  I  will  stand  it."' 

She  threw  herself  back  again  defiantly. 

Alphonse  was  fascinated  by  her  sensuous  beauty. 

"  Whom  have  you  been  waiting  for?'^ 

^'Whom?  Why,  Monsieur  Hastings.  But  he  will  see. 
Hush!" 

She  sank  back  in  alarm. 

''Here  he  comes.  Don't  tell  him  what  I  said.  I  was 
only  joking. '' 

She  seemed  terribly  frightened. 

The  footstep  passed  the  door  and  ascended  the  stairs. 

Alphonse  wondered  at  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
scene. 

''Why  should  you  fear  him?  he  asked,  approaching 
her. 

"Who  said  I  feared  him?     I  don't  fear  him." 

Another  footstep  made  her  start,  and  she  waved  her  hand 
beseechingly  at  Alphonse. 

"Oh,  stand  back,  stand  back.  Please  don't  be  so  near 
me.     He   would  " 

She  listened. 

"It  wasn't  he.  I  will  go  if  he  doesn't  come.  I  won't 
wait  his  pleasure  so.     I  am  not  his  slave  if  he  does " 

She  stopped. 

"It  he  does  what?"  asked  Alphonse,  in  his  sweetest 
tones.  f 

"You  are  his  friend.'' 

''His  friend!" 

Alphonse  laughed  bitterly. 

"I  hate  him." 

'*  Do  you  really?" 

Her  brown  eyes  sparkled* 


142  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

''I  do,  with  all  my  heart/^ 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

^^So  do  I;  but  he  makes  me  do  his  will.  He  makes  you 
do  it,  too.^' 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

^*^  Just  now;  but  the  time  will  come." 

Alphonse  sj)oke  bravely.  '  He  was  anxious  to  make  the 
young  woman  confide  in  him. 

Partly  because  he  was  a  little  in  love,  and  partly  because 
he  thought  he  might  learn  something  useful  about  Clinton. 

^'  You  look  like  a  brave  man/^ 

^^  I  can  act  like  one.^' 

^^  Could  you?  Could  you?  but,  no,  you  would  not  dare.'' 

''Would  not  dare  what?  Speak  out.  Do  not  be  afraid. 
I    would    dare  anything    for    such    a    lovely   creature  as 

you.'' 

''  Oh,  don't  say  such  things.  He  might  come.  And  if 
he  should  hear  you  he  would " 

Again  she  broke  off  in  a  fright. 

''Is  he  so  very  dreadful,  then?"  asked  Alphonse,  nerv- 
ously. 

She  listened  intently  a  moment,  then  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and  threw  off  a  large  shawl  in  which  she  had  been 
wrapped. 

She  was  in  full  dress. 

She  was  arrayed  exactly  as  Grace  had  been  the  night  of 
her  wedding  with  Clinton. 

Alphonse  was  dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  her  animal 
beauty. 

"  You  see  me?" 

She  turned  around  with  a  sort  of  fierce  disdain. 

"  Yes;  and  you  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  did 
see." 

She  looked  pleased,  but  pointed  hurriedly  to  one  of  her 
plump  shoulders. 

A  black-and-blue  spot  was.plainly  visible. 

She  suddenly  stopped,  listened,  caught  up  the  shawl,  and, 
wrapping  herself  in  it,  threw  herself  on  the  lounge. 

"  Stand  over  there.  Don't  tell  him  I  took  the  shawl 
off." 

It  was  another  false  alarm. 

Alphonse  was  by  this  time  in  a  perfect  fever  of  anxiety. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  143 

The  woman's  beauty  allured  him,  and  her  evident  abject 
fear  of  Clinton  filled  him  with  a  nervous  dread. 

^^What  does  this  man?"'  he  asked,  when  the  cause  for 
alarm  had  passed. 

She  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper. 

'^  You  will  not  betray  me  to  him?" 

*^  Never.'' 

'^  I  would  tear  you  to  pieces  if  you  did.  It  is  only  he  I  am 
afraid  of." 

Her  brown  eyes  snapped. 

It  was  a  new  phase  of  her  beauty  to  see  her  so  fiery. 

Alphonse  was  more  than  ever  fascinated. 

''  I  would  not  betray  you." 

*^He  makes  me  wear  this  dress  and  then  curses  me  fear- 
fully. It  makes  my  blood  run  cold.  I  am  afraid  he  will 
kill  me  sometimes.  And  day  before  yesterday  I  refused  to 
put  it  on.     Then  he  struck  me." 

Elise  let  her  voice  fall,  and  her  eyes  grew  large  with 
horror  at  the  thought  of  the  awful  scene. 

Alphonse  was  filled  with  mingled  indignation  and  terror. 

Strike  that  lovely  creature! 

But  it  only  showed  what  a  demon  the  man  was. 

''  Where  do  you  live?"  he  asked. 

'^  In  the  next  room." 

^'  How  can  I  see  you  so  this  devil  cannot  interrupt  us?" 

^'  What  do  you  want  to  see  me  for?" 

^^To  help  you." 

''  You  can't  help  me.  Nobody  can.  I  ran  away  from 
him  in  America  and  came  here.  He  was  sitting  in  my 
room  when  I  awoke  one  morning." 

^^  Did  he  beat  you?" 

''  No.     Worse." 

^^What?" 

^*  He  laughed. '^ 

Alphonse  shuddered. 

He  remembered  that  laugh. 

^^  Nevertheless  I  can  help  you,  if  you  will  let  me  see  you. 
You  are  not  afraid  to  see  me  alone?" 

'^Afraid!" 

Elise  laughed  merrily. 

''  Of  you  ?    Oh,  no.     I'm  only  afraid  of  him/^ 

^^  Will  you  see  me  then?" 


144  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^'Yes.  If  lie  discovers  it^  lie  can  only  kill  me.  AVhat 
day  is  this?^' 

^*  Wednesday."' 

^*^  Thursday  morning  until  noon  he  is  never  here.  He 
goes  out  of  tlie  city.      Come  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven.'' 

'^  Let  me  come  at  ten.'^ 

''  If  you  like.'' 

^^  At  nine?" 

^^  Ten  will  do.     Hush!'^ 

The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Clinton  Hastings 
walked  in. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
i]sr  THE  sirek's  toils. 

He  looked  quickly  from  one  to  the  other;  then  harshly 
demanded  of  her: 

^^How  long  has  he  been  here?" 

•^Five  minutes." 

She  shrank  back,  as  if  expecting  a  blow. 

Clinton  turned  sharply  to  Alphonse. 

^^Dear  brother,  admire  and  criticise  this  picture. '^ 

Pointing  to  a  landscape  on  an  easel. 

''It  is  that  dear  old  Chateau  d'Iberri." 

Alphonse  bit  his  lip,  and  turned  to  look  at  it. 

''  Mademoiselle,  go  home." 

''Yes,  monsieur,"  was  the  meek  answer. 

Alphonse  turned  to  look  at  her;  but  Clinton  adroitly 
screened  her,  and  went  on  in  his  mocking  way: 

"The  dear  old  Chateau!  What  happy  memories  it  re- 
calls, does  it  not,  dear  brother?" 

"  I  have  brought  your  money." 

"  That  is  a  good  brother." 

"  Will  you  leave  me  in  peace  now?" 

"In  peace,  dear  brother?     Can  you  ask?" 

"Yes,  I  can  and  do  ask.  If  you  are  going  to  persecute 
me  and  bleed  me  as  you  have  done,  I  might  as  well  let  you 
go  to  D'Iberri  at  once." 

"And  how  sad  that  would  be!" 

"  Mock  me  if  you  will,  but  I  tell  you,  you  have  done  your 
worst  already.     I  refuse  to  give  you  anything  more." 

Alphonse  was  trying  Clinton. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  145 

Clinton  seemed  to  hesitate. 

''What!  not  even  to  keep  me  from  going  to  D'lberri?" 

Alphonse  felt  that  he  was  gaining  a  triumph. 

''  Not  even  for  that.  My  money  is  exhausted,  and  I  can 
get  no  more.  So  you  see  it  will  be  useless  to  urge  me  any 
further.'' 

"  But  D'Iberri  still  has  plenty,  and  Grace  can  perhaps 
get  it  for  me.  You  are  right;  it  is  unfair  to  ask  you  for 
any  more.  The  next  time  I  will  go  to  Grace.  Good-by.'' 
Clinton  laughed,  and  Alphonse  saw  that  he  had  merely 
been  mocking  him. 

''  Tell  me,  then,  what  I  am  to  expect  from  you?" 

''  I  couldn't  do  it,  dear  brother.  I  want  to  keep  you  in 
suspense.  I  want  you  to  feel  that  when  I  crook  my  finger 
you  must  come.  1  want  you  to  feel  that  six  thousand  dol- 
lars a  year  depend  upon  my  silence.  I  want  you  to  feel 
that  I  can  put  you  in  prison  for  that  altered  check  or  that 
forged  check.  I  want  you  to  feel  that  I  can  hang  you  for 
ihat  murder  in  x\merica." 

All  this  was  said  in  a  light  tone  of  mockery,  but  it  none 
the  less  chilled  Alphonse  to  the  very  marrow.  He  saw  that 
his  every  movement  was  known  to  this  man. 

It  was  not  a  mere  persecution  he  was  suffering — it  was  a 
life  and  death  struggle  he  was  engaged  in. 

The  very  desperation  of  the  case  gave  him  presence  of 
mind  to  act. 

''  I  am  in  your  power.     I  will  do  as  you  require." 

Again  that  hateful  laugh. 

''  You  are  wise.     You  may  go  now." 

The  next  day  at  ten  o'clock  found  Alphonse  in  Elise's 
room. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  charming  neglige,  and,  reclining  in 
an  easy-chair,  was  sipping  a  cup  of  chocolate. 

All  the  fear  of  the  former  day  was  gone,  and  she  was 
seductively  languid  and  vivacious  by  turns. 

Alphonse  was  divided  between  his  fast  increasing  passion 
for  her  and  his  desire  to  rid  himself  of  Clinton. 

"Well,  ami,"  she  said,  ''you  went  away  conquered  yes- 
terday, eh?" 

"  Why  do  you  think  that?" 

<fOh!" — a  pretty  shrug  of  the   shoulders — "I  listened. 
And  then  he  was  so  good-natured  after  you  were  gone." 
"  And  you  heard  all  he  said  to  me?" 


146  THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS. 

'^  Yes/'  indifferently.     *^  Forgery,  murder  and  all/^ 

Alphonse  ground  his  teeth. 

^' And  you  believed  him?^^ 

'*Why  not?  He  made  you  do  those  things,  very  likely. 
Oh,  as  he  often  says  himself,  he  is  the  devil,  I  think. ^^ 

'a  will  kill  him. ^^ 

'^No,  von  will  not.^^ 

^MVhy> 

'^  You  cannot.  Only  a  few  days  ago  he  said  to  me, 
^  Elise,  get  behind  that  screen  and  you  will  see  some  fun. 
A  man  is  coming  here  to  murder  me.^ 

''I  pretended  to  be  alarmed  for  him.  He  laughed  at  me 
— that  laugh  of  his  which  seems  to  say  '  I  know  your  real 
thoughtSc^ 

'^  Then  he  said,  ^My  pretty  Elise,  the  fun  will  be  your 
disappointment  when  the  man  fails. ^ 

''  Mon  Dieu\  He  was  right.  I  would  give  my  teeth,  one 
by  one  ^^ — she  showed  her  gleaming  white  teeth — '^to  have 
him  dead. 

^'  But  see  how  it  happened.  The  man  came.  A  perfect 
Hercules  of  a  fellow.  Monsieur  mocked  him  and  gibed  him 
till  he  was  crazy. 

'^  Then  he  pulled  a  big  knife  and  jumped  at  him. 

^^ Grand  Dieu\    I  thought  I  was  free. 

"No,  monsieur  only  laughed  and — ah!  it  was  frightful 
how  he  punished  the  poor  fellow. 

"  Then  he  said  to  me,  ^  I  will  put  a  paragraph  in  the 
papers  saying  I  am  dead.  My  dear  brother  will  read  it  and 
be  happy  for  a  day.  You,  too,  may  read  it,  and  perhaps 
it  will  make  you  feel  good  for  a  moment.^  ^^ 

"  What  a  monster!  exclaimed  Alphonse. 

"Yes,  indeed.  Oh,  he  cannot  be  killed!  When  he  first 
met  me  I  was  fierce.  I  thought  no  man  could  master  me. 
He  did  it  by  laughing  at  me,  and  I  hated  him.  I  said  I 
would  kill  him. 

"  One  day  he  was  asleep  on  the  lounge,  and  I  took  my 
dagger — I  always  carry  it  now,  he  makes  me.  I  have  to 
show  it  to  him  every  day,  and  then  he  laughs.  Ah!  how  I 
hate  him. 

^'Well,  this  day  I  crept  up  softly,  intending  just  to 
stratch  his  face — there  is  deadly  poison  on  the  point.  It 
was  only  an  inch  from  his  cheek,  when  he  had  my  wrist  in 
his  hand,  and  he  was  laughing. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  147 

'* Kill  him!  no.     He  is  the  devil.'" 

Elise  had  told  these  stories  with  all  the  animation  of  an 
exasperated  woman,  and  then  had  sunk  despairingly  back 
in  her  chair.  ^ 

Alphonse  was  deeply  impressed. 

The  mysterious  confidence  and  extraordinary  power  and 
knowledge  of  Clinton  augmented  his  fear,  but  only  made 
him  the  more  anxious  to  put  his  enemy  out  of  the  way. 

He  knew  he  was  only  being  saved  for  a  purpose,  and  that 
either  he  must  kill  Clinton  or  look  forward  to  some  terrible 
punishment,  all  the  more  to  be  dreaded  that  it  was  hidden 
in  mystery. 

He  saw  that  he  had  been  entangling  himself  in  a  mesh 
of  Clinton^s  weaving,  and  he  swore  to  himself  that  he  would 
accomplish  his  enemy's  destruction. 

Not  one  thought  of  Grace  entered  his  selfish  mind,  al- 
though he  must  have  known  that  she,  too,  would  some  time 
be  a  victim. 

^' Well,""  said  Elise,  after  Alphonse  had  remained  silent 
several  minutes,  '^will  you  kill  him?'" 

'*  Suppose  I  were  to  hire  two  men  to  do  it?"" 

''  Ten  men  would  be  like  children  to  him."" 

^^Wait!  I  have  it!  Do  the  people  of  the  house  know 
that  you  and  he  are  acquainted?" 

*^No.  He  was  furious  when  he  saw  you  in  the  studio 
with  me.  I  could  see  it  in  his  eyes.  I  thought  he  would 
strike  me.     Nobody  knows.'" 

''  Then,  if  he  should  die  of  poison,  nobody  would  suspect 
you  ?'" 

"No.     But  he  won't  die  of  poison."" 

''  Whv?'" 

"  Who  will  give  it  to  him?"" 

^a  will."" 

**  How  can  you?" 

^^Tell  me  his  habits.     Does  he  drink  chocolate?"" 

^*  No;  coffee.     I  prepare  it  for  him  every  morning."" 

"  Then  I  will  be  here  some  morning  and  put  arsenic  in 
his  coffee."" 

"  And  I  will  carry  it  to  him?'" 

^^Yes.'" 

^^  No,  monsieur.  He  would  look  into  my  eyes  and  read 
poison  there."" 


148  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

"But  think,  Elise,  what  a  .deliverance  if  we  could  get 
him  out  of  the  way!'' 

"Yes/^  * 

Elise  sighed  and  looked  pensive. 

'^  But  I  could  never  stand  his  eyes  on  me.'' 

'^  You  are  not  in  earnest,  Elise/' 

"In  earnest!^' 

She  started  from  her  chair. 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  see  him  dead!" 

^*  Would  you  give " 

Alphonse  gazed  on  her  passionately,  and  caught  her  hand 
in  his. 

"  Would  you  give  your  love?" 

A  quick  change  from  excitement  to  coquetry  passed  over 
the  sensuous  face. 

"I  might  try.'' 

Alphonse  fervently  kissed  her  dimpled  hand^and  moved 
to  put  his  arm  around  her  waist. 

She  glided  away  from  him,  and  exclaimed,  with  an  arcli 
laugh : 

•^  He  is  still  alive.'' 

Alphonse  bit  his  lip.  The  love  was  evidently  very  much 
one-sided. 

However,  he  would  gain  her  and  kill  Clinton  yet,  he 
promised  himself. 

"  Can  you  suggest  any  way?" 

"  He  drinks  a  small  glass  of  brandy  every  night  before 
going  to  bed." 

^*'Yes." 

"And  his  bottle  is  easy  to  get." 

'^  I  will  put  arsenic  in  it." 

"Arsenic!  Bah!  He  would  tell  it  in  a  moment.  As  if 
that  were  the  only  poison." 

"What  then?" 

"See!" 

She  stooped  and  drew  from  the  under  side  of  the  lounge  a 
small  vial  of  colorless  liquid. 

"That  paralyzes  the  throat  and  kills  in  agony  in  half 
an  hour.  I  have  had  it  a  month,  and  have  not  dared  to  use 
it." 

Her  brown  eyes  snapped  as  she  went  on : 

''  He  has  kept  me  like  a  whipped  dog,  and  I  wish  to  look 
at  him  when  he  dies  and  enjoy  his  agony.     If  he  drinks 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  149 

this,  he  cannot  speak  to  call  for  help,  and  I  can  taunt  him 
till  he  dies/' 

Alphonse  eagerly  took  the  vial. 

''  When  can  I  put  it  in  the  brandy  ?'' 

^^Not  now.  Oh,  he  would  discover  it  somehow!  He  w^ill 
be  home  at  noon.  He  will  stay  home  till  six,  and  go  out 
for  dinner,  and  return  at  nine  to  go  to  bed.  That  is  the 
usual  way.  After  he  goes  out  at  six  he  seldom  wants  to  see 
me  again.  Then  you  may  come  and  fix  the  brandy,  and  I 
need  not  betray  the  trap.'' 

''I  will  be  here." 

Alphonse  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully.  He  felt  assured  of 
success. 

''  And  then  you  will  love  me?" 

''Oh!  I  only  said  I  would  try/' 

''But  you  tviUtYyr 

"I  guess  so." 

"  Try  a  little  now.'' 

"What's  the  use?" 

"Just  to  encourage  me." 

"Well,  I  will,  then." 

"  Beautiful  Elise,  may  I  kiss  you?" 

"  Yes." 

Alphonse  sprang  eagerly  forward  to  press  her  lips. 

"My  hand,  I  mean." 

She  laughed  at  his  discomfiture  as  she  retreated  behind  a 
chair  and  held  out  her  hand. 

He  quickly  recovered  himself. 

"  Your  hand  is  better  than  any  other  woman's  lips." 

And  he  devoured  the  plump  little  fingers  with  warm 
kisses. 

Alphonse  was  infatuated.  He  was  in  the  toils  of  the 
siren. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  TRIUMPH   OF   ALPHONSE. 

"Has  begone?" 

"  Yes,  and  will  be  back  soon.     He  is  very  tired.  Quick!" 
Elise  thrust  the  vial  into   Alphonse's  hand,   and  let  him 
into  the  studio  by  a  door  opening  from  her  room. 


150  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

A  dim  light  burning,  showed  a  half-bottle  of  brandy  and 
a  small  glass  standing  on  a  little  table  by  the  bedside. 

''  Shall  I  put  it  into  the  brandy?'^  whispered  he. 

'^Yes.^^ 

^^  Is  there  enough  here  to  kill?^^ 

^^Half  of  it  would  do.     Quick!  I  am  dying  of  fright." 

The  vial  was  emptied  into  the  brandy. 

The  liquor  became  clouded  and  then  cleared  again. 

^^Now  come  in  here/^  she  whispered^  and  closed  the  door 
securely. 

^^  Where  shall  I  wait?"  he  asked. 

^^  Oh,  vou  must  not  leave  me,  or  I  shall  die.^^ 

"  Why*^not  fly  with  me?'' 

'^  He  might  want  me  when  he  returns.  If  I  were  not  here 
he  would  suspect.'-* 

^'  What  of  it?    We  would  be  safe.'' 

*^  He  would  find  us.     Besides,  I  want  to  see  his  agon  v." 

''  Where  shall  I  hide,  then?" 

^^In  the  closet.      And  see,  there  is  a  little  hole   through 
the   partition.     You    can  watch  him.     When  you  see  the 
poison  take  effect  call  me.     He  cannot  cry  out.     He  cannot ' 
live." 

The  dim  light  in  Elise's  apartment;  the  low  whispers;  the 
woman's  chattering  teeth,  were  not  calculated  to  encourage 
Alphonse. 

He  was  in  a  clammy  perspiration,  and  a  nervous  dread 
overcame  him. 

What  if  Clinton,  with  his  mysterious  knowledge  of  every- 
thing, should  suspect? 

^^  Perhaps  I  had  better  wait  outside  in  the  street,"  he 
said. 

^^  And  leave  me  here  alone?    No.     You  shall  stay  here." 

Elise  spoke  fiercely. 

Alphonse  crept  into  the  closet  and  glued  his  eyes  to  the 
hole. 

He  could  see  everything  distinctly. 

A  half-hour  dragged  slowly  along.  Alphonse  fifty  times 
wished  himself  away. 

He  would  have  gone,  but  love  for  the  woman,  and  fear 
and  hate  f©r  the  man  held  him  back. 

At  last  Clinton  came  in. 

He  turned  up  the  lamp  and  sat  down.  Alphonse  could 
see  every  movement. 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  151 

Clinton  sat  brooding,  angrily. 

Suddenly  he  looked  fixedly  at  the  door  of  Elise's  room, 
and  stepped  lightly  toward  it. 

Alphonse  could  not  see  him  now,  but  his  heart  beat 
violently. 

Could  he  suspect? 

Clinton  rapped  sharply  on  the  door. 

^^Elise!^' 

'^  Oh,  mon  Dieiir  she  exclaimed,  with  a  stifled  shriek. 
^^  He  has  discovered;  he  will  kill  me.     Yes,  monsieur.'^ 

She  tried  to  steady  her  voice,  i 

Alphonse  suffered  agonies.  If  Clinton  discovered  him 
he  would  kill  him  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 

^'Open  the  door.^' 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

The  door  was  opened. 

^^What  did  you  go  into  the  studio  for,  eh?  Answer 
or  I  will  choke  you.^^  , 

"I  did  not,  monsieur.     I  swear  I  did  not.^^ 
^'  This  door  has  been  opened.     Quick!     The  truth." 
^'I — I  opened  the  door  because  my  dress  was  caught." 
^*  That^s  a  lie;  but  never  mind.     I  will  find  out  if  you  do 
not  tell  me,  and  then  so  much  the  worse  for  you,  my  ser- 
pent, my  tiger-cat!'^ 

^^It  is  the  truth,  monsieur." 
She  was  sobbing. 

Clinton  closed  the  door.     Alphonse  breathed  again. 
^  The  artist   threw   off  his  coat  and  boots,  and,  rolling  a 
cigarette,  lighted  it  and  lay  down  on  the  bed. 

He  rose,  leaned  on  his  elbow,  and  took  up  the  bottle  of 
brandy. 

Alphonse  felt  his  knees  knocking  each  other. 

Clinton  paused  as  he  was  about  to  pour  out  the  liquor, 
and  held  the  bottle  up  to  the  light. 

Alphonse  shook  as  with  palsy,  and  would  have  given 
up  all  thoughts  of  vengeance  to  have  been  safely  in  the 
street. 

He  did  not  dare  to  move. 

The  inspection  seemed  to  satisfy  Clinton,  for  he  poured 
the  brandy  into  the  glass. 

Then  his  suspicions  seemed  to  revive,  for  he  smelled  of 
the  brandy. 


152  THE  A^rlERICAN  MARQUIS. 

He  looked  toward  the  door  as  if  half-minded  to  call 
Elise. 

The  glass  was  almost  at  his  lips,  when  he  withdrew  it  and 
examined  it  by  the  lamp-light. 

Every  hesitating  movement  caused  Alphonse  an  angony 
of  fear. 

At  last  Clinton  frowned,  tossed  his  head,  and  drank  down 
the  brandy. 

Beads  of  cold  perspiration  stood  on  the  forehead  of  Al- 
phonse as  with  staring  eyes  he  watched  Clinton. 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  still  the  artist  puffed  away 
calmly. 

Suddenly  he  stiffened  his  body  and  threw  away  his  cigar- 
ette. 

He  half  rose  in  bed  and  fell  again,  clutching  at  his  throat 
and  making  a  gurgling  noise. 

His  body  bent  like  a  bow.  His  features  were  contorted 
as  if  the  musles  were  tying  themselves  into  knots. 

The  clutching  at  the  throat  and  gm-gling  went  on. 

Alphonse  turned  sick  at  his  stomach  and  rushed  from  the 
closet. 

Elise  was  on  her  knees  with  her  hands  clasped,  her  face 
full  of  terror. 

'^He  is  dying, ^^  hoarsely  whispered  Alphonse.  ^'Come, 
let  us  fly.'' 

^^  He  took  it  r 

Elise  sprang  to  her  feet  eagerly. 

Alphonse  nodded. 

^'  Then  let  us  go  in,  that  he  may  know  who  did  it.  Oh, 
I  can  love  you  for  this.     Come.'' 

^'No,  no — for  Heaven's  sake,  no!    It  is  awful.'' 

''  Bah!     Come,  I  say.'* 

She  turned  on  him  fiercely. 

^^  Are  you  afraid  of  a  dying  man?    Come,  I  say." 

She  dragged  him  after  her  to  the  door,  eagerly  threw  it 
open,  and  led  him  in. 

Clinton  was  undergoing  fearful  agonies,  as  his  writhing 
body  and  convulsed  features  proved. 

His  speechless  suffering  was  terrible. 

Elise  laughed  like  a  madwoman. 

''Aha!"  she  hissed,  as  Clinton's  glaring  eyes  fell  upon 
her.  *'You  will  choke  me,  eh?  You  will  beat  me,  eh? 
You  will  curse  me,  eh?     I  am  a  snake,  eh?    See,  here  is 


THE  AMEKICAN  MAEQUIS.  153 

the  man  who  did  it  I  And  I  am  to  love  him  for  it.  I  am 
to  love  him — do  you  hear,  love  him?  Ha,  ha!  you  suffer, 
do  you?     You  cannot  speak,  you  cannot  laugh  any  more!''' 

She  went  up  close  to  him,  and  shook  her  little  fist  in  his 
face  with  the  air  of  a  fury. 

''  Shall  I  put  a  paragraph  in  the  papers  for  this  dear 
brother  to  read,  eh?'^ 

Clinton  made  one  supre-ne  effort  to  rise,  and  then  fell 
back  stiff. 

*^Now  come,'^  said  Elise,  coolly,  to  Alphonse. 

And  she  led  him  fainting  from  the  j-oom,  and  closed  the 
door. 

''  Let  us  go  away  from  here,^^  he  gasped. 

*^Us?  No,  indeed.  You  must  go,  but  /  must  stay.  If 
I  were  to  go  I  would  be  suspected.  Now  go  quickly,  or  you 
will  be  suspected." 

''Ah!     I  thought  you  would  go  with  me.'' 

''  What  folly!  Go,  and  do  not  come  back  for  a  week,  or 
you  may  get  in  trouble.'' 

''  Not  see  you  for  a  whole  week?" 

''  What  is  a  week?     We  are  both  young.     Will  you  go?" 

''  At  least  3^ou  will  kiss  me  now?" 

*'  I  have  not  learned  to  love  you  yet.  I  am  only  trying 
now." 

Elise  laughed  gayly. 

Alphonse  thought  of  the  dead  man  in  the  next  room,  and 
shuddered. 

''  Are  you  not  afraid  to  stay  here  alone  with — with  him 
in  the  next  room?" 

Elise  laughed  until  she  cried. 

*'  Oh,  what  a  joke!  Afraid  of  a  deai  man!  No,  indeed, 
nor  of  any  living  one  now.  Good-night,  monsieur,  good- 
night." 

And  Elise  pushed  him  out  of  her  room. 

*'  But,"  he' pleaded,  '*  I  may  see  you  in  a  week." 

''Yes." 

The  door  w^as  shut  and  bolted. 

Alphonse  crept  in  horror  past  the  artist's  door/ and  flew 
down  the  stairs. 

His  footsteps  had  ^hardly  ceased  to  sound  on  the  stairs 
when  Elise  put  her  head  into  the  studio  and  burst  into  a 
peal  of  laughter. 

Clinton  sat  up  and  smiled  quietly  and  approvingly. 


154  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

^'  Xow  you  are  companions  in  crime/^  he  said. 

^^Yes/\ 

And  again  Elise  laughed. 

*^  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  But  he  was  frightened  when  he  saw 
you  twist  and  turn.  I  thought  he  would  faint.  Oh,  but 
you  did  it  beautifully.^^ 

''  What  I  did  was  nothing,  Elise,  but  you — you  are  a  per- 
fect actress.     Do  you  think  he  is  much  in  love?'^ 

^^  Head  and  ears.  He  is  crazy  with  love.  How  I  will 
tease  him,  the  cowardly  little  puppy!  And  he  shall  forge 
a  check  for  ten  thousand  francs  every  week.  Love  him,  in- 
deed P' 

''  You  are  doing  a  great  deal  for  me,  Elise. ^^ 

^^  You  know  I  am  glad?^^ 

She  flushed,  and  her  lip  trembled. 

'^  Yes,  Elise,  I  know  it,  and  I  am  grateful.  I  wish  I  could 
repay  you.^^ 

^*  If  you  are  satisfied  with  me,  it  is  enough.'^ 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  respectfully. 

The  warm  blood  rushed  to  her  face,  and  she  tottered  as  if 
about  to  fall. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

Her  soft  brown  eyes  swimming  in  tenderness  looked  up 
at  him.  The  lithe,  pliant  form  was  swelling  with  warm 
life. 

He  was  a  man. 

He  kissed  her. 

The  next  moment  he  regretted  it. 

*'  Oh,  Elise,  what  have  I  done?    It  was  wrong,  wrong. '^ 

He  placed  her  in  a  chair  and  walked  up  and  down. 

*'  It  was  my  fault,''  she  murmured.  ''  Don't  be  sorry.  It 
pays  me  for  all  I  have  done,  or  will  do,  for  you.  I  will  not 
try  to  make  you  do  it  again." 

Clinton  smiled. 

^'You  little  witch!"  he  exclaimed.  ^^  You  conquered 
me.  Well,  I  forgive  you.  What  a  life  you  will  lead  that 
poor  Alphonse." 

^^How  I  love  you!" 

She  spoke  passionately. 

Clinton  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

*'I  must  get  away,  or  there'll  be  more  kisses  to  regret. 
Good-night." 

^^  Good-night." 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  155 

She  listened  till  she  could  hear  his  footsteps  no  more. 
^'  He'll  never  love  me.     I  know  it.    But  at  least  he  kissed 
me.'^ 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

FROM   PARIS   TO   D^IBERRI. 

**And  we  are  really  going  to  D'Iberri  at  last,  Honore?^^ 

^'  Yes,  my  darling,  to  dear  old  D'Iberri.  How  I  long  to 
have  you  see  the  old  chateau.  I  hope  you  will  like  it.  Now 
that  we  have  started,  and  are  actually  on  our  way  there,  I 
have  misgivings  lest  it  should  be  too  old  and  musty  for  my 
bright  and  joyous  Grace. ^^ 

"  Honore,  I  will  not  talk  to  you  about  that.  You  will 
see  when  I  am  there  whether  it  suits  me  or  not.'^ 

Grace  looked  up  at  her  husband  with  an  air  of  adoration. 

^^  I  am  so  glad  to  get  away  from  Paris.''' 

^^  And  I,  too.  I  was  so  busy  all  the  time  that  I  seemed 
hardly  to  see  you  at  all.^' 

^^  I  was  very  lonesome  sometimes. ^^ 

^^  Dear  little  Grace!  Well,  you  shall  have  me  at  D^Iberri 
until  you  will  be  glad  of  a  respite. ^^ 

^^You  don't  believe  that,  Honore,  do  you?^' 

/'I  should  be  sorry  if  I  did,  for  it  would  make  me  very 
unhappy  if  I  thought  you  could  tire  of  me  for  even  a 
minute.'^ 

^'  We  shall  be  so  happy  there,  Honore. ^^ 

•'Indeed  we  shall. '^ 

^M  am  glad  Alphonse  refused  to  come  with  us/^ 

''  So  am  I,  and  yet '^ 

Honore  frowned. 

'^What,  darling?^'  " 

'^  I  did  not  like  to  leave  him  behind.  He  is  so  dissipated. 
More  so,  it  seems  to  me,  than  ever.  And  I  don't  know 
Grace — it  is  foolish  of  me,  of  course — but  I  have  a  strange 
feeling  of  uneasiness  about  him.'' 

"  Don't  think  of  him,  Honore.  He  worries  me,  too;  but 
I  know  he  will  not  change  for  anything  we  could  say,  so  let 
us  be  happy — just  as  happy  as  two  children  in  vacation 
time.^' 

*'  So  we  will,  my  Grace." 

•^  No  more  ceremony,  no  more  fashions  to  keep  up.    Only 


156  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

simple  me  and  simple — no,  that  won^t  do.  I  can't  call  you 
simple.  You,  my  dignified  and  noble  husband/'  she 
laughed.  ^'  But  just  us — our  two  selves.  Oh,  but  shall  we 
not  be  happy?" 

Honore  smiled  lovingly  at  his  vivacious  wife. 

^'Tell  me  whatD'Iberri  is  like,  so  I  can  see  it  from  far 
away.     How  near  does  the  cars  take  us?'^ 

'*  Five  miles.  At  Dlberri,  the  little  town,  the  carriage 
will  be  waiting 'for  us,  and  we  will  reach  the  chateau  at 
sunset.  It  stands  on  a  little  plateau,  and  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  if  you  ever  saw  anything  more  beautiful.  I  timed  it 
to  reach  there  at  sunset  on  purpose  that  you  might  enjoy 
it.'' 

"How  thoughtful  of  you.'' 

/^Then  we  will  have  supper  at  once.  After  that,  if  you 
are  not  too  tired,  I  will  show  you  the  chateau  interior  by 
candle-light." 

Grace  clapped  her  hands  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
child. 

''You  shall  have  a  few  lamps  in  the  chateau,"  went  on 
Honore,  smiling;  ^'but  there  are  such  beautiful  bronze 
and  silver  candelabras  that  I  can't  bear  not  to  use  them; 
besides,  the  effect  when  they  are  all  lighted  is  splendid." 

*'  It  must  be.  Don't  apologize.  Am  I  not  going  to  be 
a  real  country  housekeeper?" 

''And  then  they  are  so  much  more  in  keeping  with  the 
antique  furniture." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  did  not  send  it  aw^ay,  Honore.  It 
gives  you  so  much  pleasure." 

"So  it  does.  It  would  have  been  a  positive  sacrifice  to 
have  replaced  it  by  new  furniture.  But  I  would  not  have 
hesitated  if  you  had  wished  me  to  change  it." 

""  I  know  it,  you  dear  husband;  but  I  would  not  have  it 
changed  for  anything." 

"  I  have  given  orders  to  have  the  whole  chateau  lighted 
while  we  are  at  supper,  so  that  you  may  see  the  inside 
as  well  as  the  outside  at  its  best.  You  see  I  am  a 
schemer." 

"  A  dear  old  schemer." 

Lovers  never  find  the  time  long,  and  Grace  was  astonished 
when  Honore  told  her  they  were  at  D'Iberri. 

A  pretty  little  phaeton/ drawn  by  two  fleet,  gray  ponies, 
was  waiting  for  them. 


THE  Al^EBICAN  MAKQUIS.  157 

Without  neglecting  the  ponies,  Honore  kept  his  eye  con- 
stantly on  Grace. 

She  was  in  raptures  with  the  beautiful  country. 

*^  I  had  no  idea/^  she  exclaimed,  that  okl  Brittany  had 
so  many  lovely  spots.  Oh!  look  at  that  chateau.  Is  that 
D'lberri?^^ 

Honore  smiled,  and  nodded  assent. 

''  rfow  lovely!  Oh!  Honore,  I  shall  be  happy  there.  You 
were  right,  it  is  beautiful."" 

A  shade  passed  over  his  face. 

*'Can  all  this  enthusiasm  be  real?"  he  asked  himself, 
^^  or  is  she  a  better  actress  than  I  supposed.  Lovely  little 
demon,  I  will  startle  you  before  this  night  is  over,  or  I  mis- 
take my  power. ^^ 

They  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  chateau,  and  yet, 
closely  as  he  watched  her  he  could  see'  no  sign  of  recognition 
in  her  face. 

She  was  full  of  joyous  enthusiasm. 

The  gates  were  opened  by  old  Pierre,  all  smiles  and  rever- 
ences. 

''  What  a  quaint  old  porter!^^  exclaimed  Grace. 

'^  An  old  servitor.  I  could  not  have  the  heart  to  send 
him  away.'^ 

^'  I  am  so  glad  you  did  not.'^ 

'^  Perhaps  he  will  amuse  you.  He  is  full  of  odd  stories 
about  the  chateau,  its  ghosts,  and  the  like.'^ 

^^Hasit  ghostsr 

Grace  made  a  pretty  pretense  of  alarm. 

*^  Not  very  dangerous  ones,  I  guess,^^  laughed  Honore. 

^' Ah!  what  lovely  marble  steps  1"^  she  exclaimed,  when 
she  alighted  from  the  phaeton,  ^'and  what  mosaics.'^ 

Honore  looked  at  her  and  marveled. 

They  passed  through  the  door  and  into  the  hall,  and  on 
every  hand  Grace  saw  some  new  object  to  admire. 

''  I  do  not  understand  this;  but  it  is  real,'''  said  Honore  to 
himself.  ^'Either  she  has  forgotten,  or  she  never  saw  this 
part  of  the  chateau  before.  After  supper  we  shall  see,  my 
child-like  little  wife,  my  lovely  Grace,  my  demon, '■* 


158  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 


CHAPTER  XLT. 

THE   CHATEAU   BY   CAISTDLE-LIGHT. 

^^Now  show  me  my  future  home/^  exclaimed  Grace, 
when  the  meal  was  over. 

''  We  will  go  into  the  great  saloon  first. ^^ 

Honore  led  the  way  up  the  broad  staircase  and  stopped  in 
front  of  the  double  doors  of  the  saloon. 

''Now/^  said  he,  smiling,  ^^prepare  for  a  burst  of  splen- 
dor. ^^ 

He  threw  the  doors  open  and  led  Grace  in. 

An  exclamation  of  pleasure  broke  from  her  lips,  and 
ended  in  a  quick  gasp  as  her  eyes  took  in  the  detail  of  the 
room,  and  memory  woke  within  her. 

She  cast  a  quick  glance  of  terror  on  her  husband. 

He  was  smiling  happily. 

She  clung  to  his  arm  and  shut  her  eyes. 

^^Do  you  like  it,  Grace?'^ 

The  blue  eyes  opened  and  stared  wildly  around.  They 
closed  and  opened  again. 

The  little  hands  frantically  felt  of  the  strong  arm  they 
clung  to. 

^^  Is  this  you,  Honore?"  she  panted. 

^' Yes,  darling.     What  is  the  matter?     Are  you  ill? 

"'Are  we  in — in — D'Iberri? 

^^  Yes,  my  darling.     Grace,  dear,  what  is  it?^^ 

^*  I — I — don't  know.  I — I — think — I — oh!  Honore,  take 
me  away — take  me  awayl^' 

She  threw  herself  into  his  arms  and  clung  there  sobbing 
and  trembling. 

^^Oh!  my  darling,  what  is  the  matter?" 

He  lifted  her  tenderly  and  carried  her  into  an  adjoining 
room  to  place  her  on  a  lounge. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  glanced  despairingly  around. 

They  were  in  the  square  chamber. 

A  scream  burst  from  her  lips,  and  breaking  from  her 
husband's  arms  she  ran  shrieking  from  the  room. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  159 

He  was  by  her  side  in  a  moment,  and  once  more  taking 
her  in  his  arms  carried  her  into  their  own  room,  where  he 
hiid  her  gently  on  the  bed,  and  tried  to  soothe  her. 

She  clung  to  him,  repeating  incoherently  over  and  over 
again: 

"  You  will  not  leave -me,  will  you?" 

^'No,  darling;  no,  I  am  flot  going  to  leave  you,'' he 
would  answer. 

But  nothing  seemed  to  reassure  her.  She  would  not 
cease  to  cling  wildly  to  him,  now  whispering  to  herself,  and 
now  imploring  him  frantically  not  to  leave  her. 

To  all  his  questions  she  would  make  no  answer,  only 
shaking  her  head  and  sobbing. 

At  last  she  became  more  'calm,  and  finally  closed  her  eyes 
and  slept. 

Her  husband  lay  by  her  side,  and  ere  long  he,  too,  was 
breathing  regularly. 

By  this  time  it  was  midnight,  and  all  the  servants  had 
retired  to  rest. 

Presently  Grace  partially  rose  in  bed  and  listened  to 
Honore's  regular  breathing. 

Then  she  silently  slipped  out  of  bed  and  stole  noiselessly 
from  the  room,  closing  the  door  after  her. 

The  moment  she  did  so,  her  husband  rose  from  the  bed 
and  pressed  his  thumb  against  the  wall. 

A  panel  moved  out  of  place. 

Honore  passed  through  the  opening  and  disappeared. 
The  panel  slid  back  to  its  proper  position. 

Grace  sped  swiftly  and  silently  across  the  hall  and  en- 
tered the  square  chamber. 

She  pressed  her  two  hands  over  her  mouth  and  stifled 
a  cry  that  rose  to  her  lips. 

There  was  a  hunted  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  stared  around 
her. 

^VYes,''  she  murmured,  with  blanched  lips;  '^this  is  the 
room.'' 

She  walked  wildly  to  the  middle  of  the  chamber. 

^^  And  this  is  the  very  spot." 

With  a  moan  upon  her  lips,  she  sank  upon  her  knees  and 
clasped  her  hands. 

*'  Have  mercy,  oh.  Heaven,  have  mercy!  I  was  so  young 
then;  and  I  meant  no  harm." 

^^  There  is  no  mercy  for  such  as  youl" 


160  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

The  words  fell  clear  and  distinct  upon  her  affrighted 
ear. 

She  staggered  to  her  feet. 

^^  Who  spoke?" 

No  answer. 

^^Am  I  so  guilty,  then?" 

Her  reason  was  slipping  flPom  her. 

''  Yes." 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  beseechingly  up,  as  if 
appealing  to  Heaven,  and  then  sank  limp  and  lifeless  to  the 
floor. 

But  for  that  pitiful  figure  prostrate  on  the  floor,  the 
square  chamber,  with  its  scores  of  flaring  candles,  might 
have* been  mistaken  for  the  same  room  at  midnight  not 
many  years  before. 

A  few  moments  of  dead  silence,  and  a  panel  in  one  end 
of  the  chamber  slid  noiselesslv  aside,  and  Honore  stepped 
forth. 

Advancing  sternly  to  the  form  of  his  wife,  he  gazed  down 
at  her  with  a  strange  mingling  of  yearning  tenderness  and 
bitter  scorn. 

^^  This  is  the  beginning  of  your  suffering." 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  his  heart  gave  way,  and  he  knelt 
beside  her. 

''  How  can  it  be?  how  can  it  be?  She  is  outwardly  so 
sweet,  so  gentle,  so  loving. 

'^  If  I  did  not  know — if  I  had  not  the  testimony  of  her 
own  lips  and  my  own  senses,  I  could  not  believe. 

^'Oh,  my  Grace,  how  I  love  you! — love  you  in  spite  of 
all  my  knowledge  of  your  wickedness. 

'^  Why,  then,  may  I  not  cease  my  persecution  of  you,  and 
give  myself  up  to  the  love  that  devours  me? 

''  I  suffer  as  much  in  the  infliction  as  you  in  the  receiv- 
ing.^^ 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

^'NoT'  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  starting  to  his  feet.  '^It 
is  this  very  weakness  I  must  fight. 

'^  Was  it  not  on  this  very  spot  that  she  overwhelmed  me 
with  her  caresses  and  at  the  same  time  plotted  my  assassina- 
tion? 

''  No.  The  Marquis  dTberri  may  satisfy  his  love;  Clin- 
ton Hastings  must  gratify  his  hate." 


THE  AMEBICAN  MARQUIS.  161 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  with  infinite  tenderness  and  car- 
ried her  back  to  her  bed. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

OLD   PIERKE  AMUSES   GRACE. 

It  was  only  youth  and  a  strong  constitution  that  carried 
Grace  safely  through  the  days  of  agony  which  followed  the 
terrible  events  of  that  night. 

At  times  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  not  retain  her 
reason. 

She  would  have  begged  her  husband  to  take  her  away 
from  the  fateful  chateau;  but  every  time  she  thought  of 
such  a  thing  she  recalled  all  that  she  had  promised  about 
remaining  there. 

And  then  she  would  shudder  at  the  thought  of  passing  a 
whole  year  or  so  near  those  dreadful  rooms. 

''Why  did  I  not  tell  him?'^  she  moaned,  again  and 
again. 

Was  it  too  late  now? 

Alas!  her  husband,  with  terrible  foresight,  had  provided 
against  every  emergency; 

She  could  not  forget  his  passion  at  the  mere  suggestion 
that  she  could  ever  have  loved  or  caressed  another. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  fate  was  pursuing  her  for  the  mis- 
take of  her  youth. 

She  ought  to  have  been  brave  in  spite  of  Honore's  words 
of  passion. 

She  ought  to  have  told  him  of  the  .secret  marriage  before 
she  became  his  wife. 

Then  she  might  have  died  had  he  thrown  her  from  him. 

But  now,  to  have  him  scorn  her  for  her  deception — to 
have  him  turn  from  her. 

No,  no,  she  could  not  bear  it. 

Better  to  accept  the  punishment  that  came  to  her  than  to 
risk  the  loss  of  that  beloved  husband's  love  and  respect. 

And  that  voice  in  the  square  chamber! 

Was  it  a  voice,  or  was  it  only  her  disturbed  imagina- 
tion? 

She  decided  that  it  was  her  imagination,  but  yet  could 
not  shake  off  the  awful  feeling  with  which  it  had  filled 
her. 


162  THE  AMEBIC  AN  IMARQUIS. 

The  struggle  to  keep  her  trouble  from  Honore  was  not 
the  least  of  her  woes. 

Loving  him  so  entirely  she  felt  that,  in  keeping  a  secret 
from  him,  she  was  every  day  thrusting  him  away  from 
her. 

When  she  did  not  walk  about  with  him,  holding  fast  by 
his  arm,  she  would  follow  him  with  her  wistful  eyes. 

He  knew  the  agony  she  was  suffering,  but  ascribed  it  to  a 
guilty  and  fearful  conscience. 

How  could  he  so  misjudge  that  gentle  creature? 

Alas!  what  man,  controlled  by  his  passions,  can  judge 
fairly  of  anything  that  wounds  his  egotism. 

He,  too,  suffered;  suffered  bitterly,  and  yet  he  persisted. 

He  Imd  caused  the  arbor,  where  he  had  been  led  that 
fatal  night,  to  be  put  in  order. 

And  there,  when  Grace  seemed  strong  enough,  he  led 
her. 

It  was  out  of  the  hateful  chateau,  and  she  grew  to  like  it 
there. 

One  day  Honore  left  her,  in  order  to  make  a  necessary 
visit  to  the  town. 

She  took  some  fancy  work  and  a  book,  and  repaired  to 
the  arbor. 

As  she  sat  there,  old  Pierre,  who  was  working  near  by, 
looked  up,  and  seeing  that  she  noticed  him,  took  off  his  old 
cap  in  respectful  salutation  to  his  lovely  young  mistress. 

Grace  recalled  what  her  husband  had  said  of  old  PienVs 
fund  of  anecdotes,  and,  with  the  design  of  amusing  herself, 
called  him  to  her. 

^f  Why  are  you  at  work  in  the  garden ?^^  she  asked.  ''  I 
thought  you  were  our  gate  porter ?^^ 

^'So  I  am,  your  ladyship;  but  when  his  lordship  went 
away  he  said  he'd  feel  easier  if  1\1  come  hereabout  and  work, 
in  case  your  ladyship  might  be  lonesome.'^ 

'^  Dear  Honore!     How  good  he  is,''  she  murmured. 

^'Well,  I  am  little  lonesome,  good  Pierre,''  she  said, 
aloud,  **  and  my  husband  says  you  know  many  a  legend  and 
story  about  the  old  chateau." 

^'  So  1  do,  so  I  do,  your  ladyship,"  answered  the  delighted 
old  man. 

^'  (^ome,  then,  sit  down,  and  tell  me  one  to  while  away 
the  time." 

^^  Nay,  I  can  stand,  your  ladyship." 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS. 


163 


"Not SO,  good  Pierre.     Sit,  or  I  will  not  listen  to  yoii/^ 

"Nay/ then,  if  your  ladyship  insists/' 

And  the  old  man  respectfully  sat  upon  the  very  edge  of 
his  rustic  seat. 

''  What  sort  of  a  story  are  you  going  to  tell  me,  Pierre?" 

"  It  is  for  you  to  say,  my  lady,  for  I  have  all  sorts,  ghosts 
and  murders  and '' 

'^Oh,  gracious!  Pierre  stop.  Why,  what  dreadful 
people  your  D'Iberris  must  me!'' 


AND  THERE,    WHEI^   GRACE     SEEMED    STRO]!s[G   ENOUGH,    HE 
LED    HER. 

*'Nay,  your  ladyship,''  said  the  old  man,  rather  indig- 
nantly, *'the  D'Iberris  don't  blush  before  the  best  in  the 
land." 

"  Why,  ril  not  say  a  word  against  them,  Pierre.  But 
when  you  speak  of  ghosts  and  murders,  what  must  I 
think?  Good  folks  don't  walk  the  earth  when  they  are 
dead,  and  as  for  murders,  why,  surely  you  will  not  say  they 
are  right?" 


164  THE  AMERICAN  MABQUIS. 

The  old  man's  care  for  the  honor  of  the  family  pleased 
Grace  even  while  she  was  amused  by  it. 

Pierre  grumbled  and  shook  his  head  when  Grace  ceased 
speaking,  for  her  logic  was  unanswerable.  He  was  not  to 
be  put  down,  however. 

**  What  your  ladyship  says  is  true  enough,  but  I  did  not 
say  the  murders  were  done  by  D'Iberris.  Why,  two  mur- 
ders were  done  here  in  this  very  arbor,  and  no  D'Iberri  had 
a  hand  in  it.^^ 

'^  How  was  that  now?'^ 

Grace  settled  herself  for  the  story. 

^^Why,  it^s  not  much  of  a  tale,  for  the  most  anybody 
knows  is  that  they  were  lying  dead  here  one  morning.'^ 

^^And  is  that  all?'' 

^^  Mostly  all.  It  was  supposed  they  had  killed  each  other. 
Oh,  the  arbor  was  a  sight,  I  can  tell  you!  They  must  have 
struggled  terribly. 

''  Why,  right  there  where  you  sit  is  a  big  spatter  of  blood, 
where  one  of  them  struck  his  head.'' 

Grace  hurriedly  shifted  her  seat,  and  looked  with  curious 
horror  at  an  irregular  dull  brown  spot  on  the  bench. 

'^  And  has  this  remained  all  these  years?'' 

i<  Why,  your  ladyship,  it  was  not  so  many  years  ago.  Let 
me  see — it  was  the  fall  of  '65,  I  think.  I  can  always  re- 
member it  by  the  wax  candles  I  used  all  that  winter." 

'*  How  was  that?" 

Grace  was  ghastly  pale. 

•^  Why,  you  see  I  was  permitted  to  let  strangers  see  the 
chateau  in  those  days;  for  the  present  marquis,  your  hus- 
band, had  not  then  come  into  his  title,  and  the  chateau  was 
empty. 

^MYell,  that  night,  for  some  odd  whim,  some  strangers 
had  hired  the  chateau  and  lit  it  up  with  wax  candles." 

^^What  month  was  this?" 

^^I  won't  say  exactly,  but  I  think  November.  However, 
it  was  the  morning  after  that  that  the  two  men  were  found 
dead  in  here." 

Grace  was  on  the  point  of  fainting. 

"What  did  the  men  look  like?"  she  gasped. 

Old  Pierre  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  agitation. 

'^As  I  remember  now,  one  was  short  and  dark  and  the 
other  was  tall  and  fairish  like." 

"  Did  he  have  a  brown  beard?' 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  165 

''  Did  who  have  a  brown  beard?^^ 

''  The  tall  man." 

''  Now  I  forget  precisely,  but  since  you  speak  of  it,  I 
think  he  did.^^ 

*"  And  gray  eyes ?^' 

Pierre  was  respectfully  surprised. 

'*He  might,  your  ladyship,  but  I  didn^t  take  much 
notice  of  it.  It  was  the  tall  fellow^'s  blood  that  stained  the 
seat.'' 

"  Oh!"  Grace  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  And  I  sat  on  it!  Oh, 
oh!     I  shall  die  here r 

She  fled  swiftly  from  the  arbor,  scarcely  conscious  of 
what  she  was  doing. 

'*0h!"  she  groaned,  ^^  must  I  live  here  amid  all  these 
friglitful  witnesses?  May  I  have  no  more  peace  or  hap- 
piness? Honore,  my  husband,  if  you  only  knew  how  I 
suffer!'' 


CHAPTER    XLVIL 

PUTTING   OlS^  THE   SCEEWS. 

While  Grace  was  undergoing  the  torture  of  old  Pierre's 
story,  two  men  were  conversing  together  near  an  old  bridge 
near  the  town  of  D'Iberri. 

The  larger  of  the  two  men  had  called  out  to  the  smaller 
as  he  was  passing  along  toward  the  town: 

''  Hold,  ami  Tete-de-Fer!" 

^^Bras-de-Fer!" 

''  Why,  for  once,  you  seem  really  glad  to  see  me." 

'^  Am  I  not  always  glad?" 

^' I  think  not*  If  you  held  my  life,  in  your  hands  I 
should  not  care  to  see  you;  but  then  you  are  such  a  kind- 
hearted,  forgiving  creature,  perhaps  you  are  glad  to  see 
me." 

"  How  is  Elise?" 

*^  I  cannot  tell.  Elise  is  not  my  sister.  How  much  money 
have  you  received  ?" 

''  Three  thousand  francs.  I  am  to  meet  the  mayor  here 
to-night  to  receive  another  1    oiisand." 

'*Do  you  alwavs  meet  heru?" 

''  This  will  be  the  first  time." 


166  "  THE  AMEllICAN  MARQUIS. 

*^  Has  he  tried  yet  to  tickle  you?^* 

''No/' 

^^  He  will  to-night/' 

*'  How  do  you  know?^^ 

^^  How  do  I  know  anything?" 

That  was  precisely  what  Tete-de-Fer  would  have  been 
glad  to  know. 

''  He  gives  up  his  money  very  hard.^^ 

''What!  He  grumbles  over  a  few  thousand  francs?  The 
old  miser!  he  has  one  hundred  thousand  in  that  strong  box 
of  his  in  his  room.^^ 

'*  One  hundred  thousand!  Why  not  make  him  give  up 
more?" 

''  You  may  if  you  wish.     All  you  get  you  may  have.^' 

Tete-de- Fer's  eyes  sparkled.  He  thought  how  splendid 
he  would  make  Elise  if  he  had  so  much  money. 

''  It  is  like  pulling  teeth  to  get  money  from  him." 

''Yes,  he  loves  money. ^' 

"  If  I  might  visit  him  at  his  house?" 

"You  may.'' 

"  What!     And  bring  away  the  strong  box?'* 

"Yes." 

"And  may  I  keep  all  the  money?" 

"Every  sou." 

"  You  are  good  to  me." 

"  You  are  a  fool.  I  am  not  good  to  you.  I  am  using 
you." 

"When  may  I  do  it?" 

"  When  you  please." 

"  Then  I  will  do  it  to-night.'* 

"If  he  does  not  tickle  you." 

"I  will  look  out  for  that." 

"Will  you  take  some  advice?" 

'^Yes."    . 

"Then,  when  the  mayor  comes  here,  gag  him  and  tie 
him  the  first  thing.  Take  the  money  from  him  and  let  him 
go." 

"Why?" 

"He  is  very  quick  and  will  stick  you.  Eemember,  I 
warned  you  once  before." 

" Good!     I  will  do  as  you  say." 

"I  do  not  say — I  suggest.'^ 

"And  afte  •  that  I  may  return  to  Paris?" 


THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS.  167 

^^No;  you  will  stay  here.  You  will  take  this  paper  and 
read  it.  It  will  tell  you  just  what  you  are  to  do.  Do  exactly 
as  it  says,  and  you  may  afterward  go  to  Paris.  ^^ 

''  But  I  may  be  suspected  here.^^ 

"  Not  if  you  do  as  the  paper  says.^^ 

*as  that  all?" 

^^No.  Take  this  knife  and  use  it  to  open  the  strong  box 
with.  When  that  is  done,  take  this  piece  of  paper  and  pin 
it  to  the  table  with  the  knife. ^' 

"  Then  you  expected  me  to  open  the  strong  box?^^ 

Tete-de-Fer  was  stupefied. 

Bras-de-Fer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

That  evening  when  the  mayor  met  Tete-de-Fer,  the  lat- 
ter warily  watched  for  a  chance  to  take  the  former  off  his 
guard. 

The  former  watched  the  latter  in  the  same  way. 

The  difference  was  that  Tete-de-Fer  knew  he  was  watched, 
while  the  mayor  was  quite  unconscious  that  he  was  sus- 
pected. 

The  mayor  entered  into  conversation. 

*'I  do  not  like  coming  out  so  late  at  night.^' 

*'  Bah!  what  difference  does  it  make?" 

''  If  my  wife  should  know  it,  I  would  be  accused  of  all 
sorts  of  things. '-^ 

"  Will  she  not  know  when  you  go  to  bed?'^ 

^*  N"o,  for  I  sleep  in  my  own  room." 

*^  Are  you  afraid  she  will  hear  the  latch-key?  You  carry 
the  latch-key,  I  suppose?'^ 

Tete-de-Fer  asked  this  very  carelessly,  but  he  waited 
eagerly  for  the  reply. 

'^  Yes,  but  I  do  not  use  it.  I  know  a  trick  worth  two  of 
that.  I  have  a  ladder  hidden  under  the  wall,  and  I  get  into 
my  window  by  it.^' 

^^  You  old  rascal,  you  are  used  to  being  out  late.'^ 

'^He,  heT^  giggled  the  mayor. 

*'  Your  window,  then,  must  be  at  the  back  of  the  house?" 

'^  It  is.  But  now  let  us  see  about  this  money.  Will  five 
hundred  do?'^ 

''  One  thousand.     Nothing  less/^ 

^^Well,  here  it  is,  then." 

He  was  holding  the  haft  of  his  knife  in  a  firmer  grasp 
when  Tete-de-Fer  knocked  him  over  the  head  with  a  club. 

It  was  his  way  of  saving  trouble. 


168  THE  AMERICAN  MASQUIS. 

The  mayor  dropped  like  a  log. 

Tete-de-Fer  bound  and  gagged  him  without  stopping  to 
discover  if  his  man  might  not  be  dead. 

It  made  very  little  difference  to  him,  since  Bras-de-Fer 
had  not  said  he  must  not  kill  him. 

The  mayor  was  not  dead,  however. 

He  was  found  and  freed  the  next  morning  by  some  pass- 
ing peasants. 

His  story  of  being  afraid  of  his  wife  was  a  little  piece  of 
fiction.     She  was  afraid  of  him. 

Nevertheless  he  would  have  been  glad  to  have  slipped 
quietly  into  the  house  with  his  bruised  and  bloody  head. 

To  his  dismay,  however,  the  whole  house  was  alive  and  in 
an  uproar. 

They  had  first  missed  the  mayor,  and  had  noticed  a  lad- 
der at  his  window. 

It  took  him  just  fifteen  minutes  to  silence  their  clamor 
over  his  strange  appearance,  and  to  learn  that  a  ladder  was 
at  his  window. 

"  My  money!"  he  yelled. 

It  was  his  only  thought. 

He  flew  up  stairs  and  hurled  himself  against  the  door. 

The  key  had  been  taken  from  his  pocket. 

He  was  a  little  man,  and  the  door  was  strong. 

He  nearly  went  crazy  while  he  waited  for  somebody  to 
come  with  an  ax  and  break  the  door  down. 

Suddenly  he  bethought  him  of  the  ladder,  and  without 
a  word  of  warning  plunged  into  the  terrified  crowd  behind 
him,  and  knocking  them  right  and  left,  flew  down  stairs. 

Thinking  he  had  become  crazy  m  real  earnest  they  fol- 
lowed him,  screeching  and  crying. 

He  rushed  to  the  ladder,  mounted  it,  and  darted  head- 
foremost through  the  window. 

The  strong  box  was  open. 

With  a  howl  he  sprang  to  it  and  peered  in. 

It  was  empty. 

A  knife  sticking  in  the  table  caught  his  eye. 

The  knife  pierced  a  piece  of  paper,  on  which  was  written : 

"In  memory  of  November  13,  18 .  One  good  turn  deserves  an- 
other." 

When  the  servants  put  their  heads  through  the  window 
the  mayor  was  counting  imaginary  bank-books. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  169 

When  they  entered  the  room  he  offered  them  the  empty 
box  to  help  themselves  from. 
He  had  become  generous — and  a  maniac. 


^CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

A   RELIC. 

As  the  days  passed  on  and  nothing  new  occurred  to  re- 
mind Grace  of  the  past^  she  began  to  recover  something  of 
her  natural  serenity. 

If  Honore  noticed  that  she  carefully  avoided  certain  parts 
of  the  house,  he  said  nothing;  and,  indeed,  seemed  quite 
unconscious  that  his  wife  was  in  any  way  troubled. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Grace  that  she  was  not  questioned  con- 
cerning her  pallor  and  nervousness. 

Had  she  been,  she  felt  that  she  would  have  broken  down 
and  confessed  all. 

And  the  contemplation  of  the  effect  of  such  a  confession 
almost  drove  her  frantic. 

She  knew  she  had  done  wrong,  but  since  she  was  now 
doubly  assured  that  Clinton  Hastings  was  dead,  she  felt 
that,  in  time,  she  might  even  come  to  enter  the  dreaded 
rooms. 

If  it  were  possible,  she  was  determined  to  be  happy  at 
D'Iberri. 

She  believed  it  to  be  a  part  of  her  punishment  that  she 
had  been  brought  to  pass  her  life  on  the  scene  of  the  one 
mistake  of  her  life. 

Like  a  brave  and  true-hearted  woman,  she  meekly 
accepted  her  punishment. 

The  wrong  she  did  her  husband  in  keeping  a  secret  from 
him  she  would  endeavor  to  make  up  by  greater  devotion  to 
his  happiness. 

With  this  resolution  she  gained  additional  composure. 
And  if  she  was  less  gay  and  joyous,  she  was  even  more  gentle 
and  loving  than  before,  if  that  were  possible. 

The  color  returned  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  began  to  take 
the  greatest  delight  in  the  work  of  laying  out  the  grounds 
as  the  warm  days  of  spring  had  fairly  set  in. 

Her  husband  entered  into  the  work  with  the  same  ardor 


170 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 


as  herself.  Indeed  it  was  he  who  had  suggested  it  as  a 
pleasant  pastime. 

Together  they  roamed  about  the  grounds,  giving  direct- 
ions and  occasionally  putting  in  a  plant  themselves. 

One  morning,  when  they  had  been  occupied  thus  for 
some  time,  Honore  proposed  going  to  the  arbor  to  rest. 

'^ISo,  no!^"*  exclaimed  Grace,  in  alarm. 

She  had  not  been  able  yet  to  conquer  her  repugnance  to 
the  spot  stained  by  the  blood  of  her  first  husband. 


TOGETHER  THEY  ROAMED  ABOUT  THE  GROUNDS,  GIVING 
DIRECTIONS  AND  OCCASIONALLY  PUTTING  IN  A  PLANT 
THEMSELVES. 

''But  I  am  afraid  you  are  tired,  Grace." 

''  Indeed  I  am  not  Honore.  See,  there  is  that  new  man 
who  came  here  two  weeks  ago;  he  seems  to  be  looking  at 
something.'' 

''  Looking  at  his  hands,  I  guess,  to  see  if  his  hard  work 
has  blistered  them.'^ 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  171 

Grace  laughed,  for  the  new  gardener^s  assistant  was  no- 
toriously the  laziest  and  poorest  workman  they  had. 

'^  Let  us  go  and  see  what  it  is,  anyhow." 

'^  As  you  please,  my  Grace.  The  man  will  be  glad  of  an 
excuse  for  talking.^' 

''  Why  do  you  keep  him^  Honore?  You  are  always  mak- 
ing fun  of  his  idleness.^* 

^*Well,  you  know,  he  was  recommended  to  me  by  that 
poor  Mayor  of  Dlberri  who  has  gone  crazy,  and  I  don't  like 
to  send  him  away.''' 

''  What  a  soft-hearted  fellow  you  are,  Honore T^ 

'*0h,  I  can  be  positively  cruel."' 

^'  I  don't  believe  it;  but  here  is  the  man.  What  is  he 
looking  at?" 

^*  Good-morning,  Robert,"  said  Honore.  ''What  is  it 
that  seems  to  interest  you  so  much?" 

Tete-de-Fer  seemed  ill  at  ease  with  a  spade  in  his  hand, 
and  he  made  a  most  villainous-  looking  gardener.  He  an- 
swered, awkwardly  enough: 

''  It's  an  old  bit  of  black  satin.  Looks  as  if  it  might  have 
been  a  mask  once." 

Honore  took  it  and  examined  it  curiously. 

''  It  is  a  mask.     I  wonder  how  it  came  here?'' 

Grace  became  very  pale. 

*' Perhaps,"  Honore  went  on,  ''they  had  a  masked  ball 
here  during  the  life-time  of  the  old  marquis,  and  this  is  a 
relic." 

"  The  old  marquis  wasn't  that  sort,"  answered  Tete-de- 
Fer.  "  He  was  too  close-fisted  for  anything  like  a  masked 
ball." 

"  Well,  it  came  here,  somehow,"  said  Honore,  carelessly; 
and,  to  Grace's  relief,  he  started  to  move  on. 

Tete-de-Fer,  however,  seemed  anxious  to  talk,  and  said, 
quickly: 

"It  might  have  come  through  a  masked  marriage." 

Grace  caught  Honore  by  the  arm. 

He  pretended  to  mistake  her  meaning. 

*'  Romantic  little  woman,  you  want  to  hear  about  a 
masked  marriage,  I  suppose.  I'm  afraid  they  don't  have 
such  things  these  days,  and  that  mask  doesn't  look  over  a 
year  old." 

He  turned  to  Tete-de-Fer. 

*'  Why  do  you  think  of  a  masked  marriage?'^ 


172  THE  AMERICAN  MAKQUIS. 


Two  centuries  ago,  maybe,  but  not  since  that  mask  was 


^^  Oh,  such  things  have  been  here/^ 

made/^ 

Tete-de-Fer  shrugged  his  shoulders  obstinately. 

'^  There  was  one  in  this  very  chateau  not  much  over 
three  years  ago/^ 

Honore  laughed  good  naturedly. 

Grace  listened  breathlessly. 

^'  Your  lordship  may  laugh,  but  it  is  so.  The  mayor 
has  often  told  me  of  it,  and  he  performed  the  ceremony.'' 

'^  He  was  joking,  my  good  fellow.  I^ever  believe  such 
stories.  ^^ 

Again  Tete-de-Fer  shrugged  his  shoulders.. 

^'  He  was  not  joking.     Why,  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes.'^ 

•^Nay,  then,"  laughed  Honore.  ^'li  you  saw  the  mar- 
riage yourself,  Fll  say  no  more.'' 

''  I  did  not  say  that.  But  I  did  see  the  men  who  were 
murdered  after  it.'' 

^' Why,  Grace,  this  is  a  real  romance.  But  you  are  pale, 
my  darling,  this  talk  of  murders  frightens  you.  We'll  have 
no  more  of  it.  Save  your  story,  my  good  fellow,  for  an- 
other day  when  you  can  tell  it  to  me." 

"Oh,  no,  Honore,  no.  Let  me  hear  it  with  you.  I — 
I — will  be  glad  to  hear  it." 

''  Then,  at  least,  let  us  go  sit  in  the  arbor  and  listen  to  it. 
Comer 

*^No,  no,  not  there — not  there,  Honore." 

Tete-de-Fer  laughed. 

^^  Perhaps  her  ladyship  knows  it  was  there  the  murdered 
men  were  found?" 

Grace  felt  her  strength  giving  way. 

How  knowingly  the  evil-looking  man  stared  at  her! 

^^  Why  should  I  know?"  she  asked,  faintly. 

Tete-de-Fer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

''  Do  you  mean,  then,"  demanded  Honore,  ''  that  such  a 
marriage  and  such  murders  did  really  take  j)]ace?'* 

'^1  saw  the  dead  men,  and  the  mayor  told  me  of  the 
wedding.  It  must  have  been  a  rare  sight.  The  lady,  he 
said,  was  a  beauty.  Why,  only  the  other  day,  when  he 
had  just  seen  her  ladyship,  he  said,  very  respectfully, 
please  your  lordship,  he  said  the  woman  might  have  been  her 
ladyship's  sister,  excepting  for  her  face,  which  he  didn't 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  173 

Grace  clung  to  her  husband,  and  listened  as  if  fasci- 
nated. 

''  They  were  all  masked,  he  said,  and  the  man  and  woman 
seemed  very  fond  of  each  other.  But  it  was  all  a  sham,  for 
the  woman  was  all  the  time  preparing  to  have  the  man 
murdered.^' 

"^  Wh.it?"  almost  shneked  Grace. 

''  Yes;  all  the  time  she  was  kissing  and  hugging  him, 
and  telling  him  how  she  loved  him,  she  knew  her  brother 
was  getting  ready  to  have  him  murdered.^'' 

^^  It's  false— falser 

Grace  started  up  indignantly;  but  instantly  recollecting 
herself,  was  filled  with  a  terrible  fear  lest  her  words  had 
betrayed  her. 

*'6h,  Honore!"  she  moaned. 

'^  You    must  not  hear  any  more,^'  said  he;  ^^let  us  return  ' 
to  the  house." 

He  led  her  to  the  chateau,  trying  to  cheer  her  with  re- 
assuring talk,  saying  the  story  could  not  be  true,  for  it 
would  be  impossible  that  such  a  marriage  could  take  place. 

''  However,  if  you  wish  I  will  make  inquiries." 

''No;  don't  dear.  I  don't  care  to  know.  But,  oli, 
Ilonore!  it  could  not  be  true,  could  it,  that  any  woman 
would  do  as  that  man  said?" 

''Of  course  not.  She  would  have  been  a  fiend.  But, 
then,  if  she  was  married  in  a  mask,  she  must  have  had  a 
bad  motive." 

"Indeed,  Honore,  she  had  not." 

"Why,  my  little  Grace,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  smile, 
"  what  an  enthusiastic  champion  you  are  for  this  imaginary 
woman." 

Poor  Grace  could  hardly  repress  a  cry  as  this  second 
evidence  of  knowledge  escaped  her. 

She  was  glad  at  that  moment  to  have  the  footman,  who 
had  been  to  the  town,  hand  Honore  a  letter. 

'^From  the  bank,  Grace.     May  I  read  it?'* 

"Certainly.'^ 


174  THE  AMEEICAH  MARQUIS. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

NEWS      OF      ALPHONSE. 

While  Honore  opened  and  read  the  letter,  Grace  recalled 
the  words  of  Tete-de-Fer. 

''  Her  brother  was  getting  ready  to  have  him   murdered.'' 

Was  it  possible,  she  asked  herself  in  horror,  that  Al- 
phonse  could  really  have  had  Clinton  Hastings  killed  i^'^ 

Then  she  remembered  how  a  man  had  forced  money  from 
Alphonse  in  America. 

This  thought  made  her  start. 

Could  this  man,  Robert,  be  the  one? 

He  was  a  bad-looking  man,  and  might  be  a  murderer. 

Did  he  know  that  she  was  the  woman? 

And,  if  he  did,  was  he  taking  this  way  of  letting  her 
know  it? 

She  grew  faint  at  the  thought  of  being  in  the  power  of 
that  man. 

*'l  will  confess  everything  to  Honore,'^  she  said  to  her- 
self, ^'rather  than  permit  that  wicked  creature  to  use  his 
knowledge  to  make  me  purchase  safety  from  him.  Honore 
mav  spurn  me  from  him,  but,  at  least,  I  can  alwavs  love 
him.'' 

Looking  at  her  husband's  face,  she  saw  that  he  was  deeply 
agitated  over  the  contents  of  the  letter. 

Presently  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  went  to  a  window, 
as  if  to  lookout. 

Grace  suspected  that  it  was  only  to  hide  his  agitation. 

Full  of  fears  about  her  secret,  she  at  once  became  fearful 
that  this  letter  might  relate  to  that  subject,  for  it  seemed 
to  her  that  from  every  quarter  witnesses  were  rising  up 
against  her. 

•'What  is  the  matter,  Honore?" 

He  made  no  answer. 
Grace  hastened  to  his  side. 

*•' Something  is  wrong,  Honore.  Tell  me  what  it  is? 
Does  it  concern  me  ?'^ 


THE  AMEKICAN  MABQUIS.  175 

He  nodded  his  head  mournfully  and  gazed  compas- 
sionately at  her 

Her  imagination,  in  its  feverish  condition,  made  her  an- 
ticipate the  worst. 

''  Tell  me?'^ 

She  could  scarcely  articulate  the  words,  and  her  eyes  were 
filled  with  pleading  and  terror. 

*'  It  is  Alphonse/^said  Honore. 

What  an  infinite  relief  the  words  were  to  her. 

^MVhat  has  he  done?'' 

Honore  put  his  arm  around  her. 

**  I  hardly  dare  to  tell  you,  my  poor  Grace.  You  must 
know  some  time,  I  suppose;  but  you  seem  so  Dale  and  ner- 
vous, I  think  I  had  better  wait." 

^^Tell  me  now,  Honore,  the  suspense  will  be  worse  than 
any  shock/' 

''  Read  this  letter,  then.'' 

The  letter  was  as  follows: 

"  The  time  has  come  when  my  duty  to  society  compels  me  to  take 
decisive  steps  in  regard  to  your  brother-in-law,  Alphonse  Gorinot.  I 
hold  forged  checks  of  his  to  the  amount  of  over  fifty  thousand  francs. 
I  can  only  postpone  a  notification  to  the  proper  authority  until  I  hear 
from  you.  You  have  my  heartfelt  sympathy  in  this  trouble,  but  I  must 
warn  you  that  no  entreaties  can  now  move  me." 

Alphonse  a  forger!"  exclaimed  Grace. 

Honore  nodded  Y  Yes." 

*^  And  whose  name  has  he  forged,  then?" 

''  Mine." 

'^Oh,  Honore,  how  could  he  be  so  wicked!  And  have 
you  suspected  it  before?" 

^^  Alas!  yes.  It  was  a  fear  of  this  that  made  me  wish  to 
have  him  herewith  us." 

'^  But  what  can  have  induced  him  to  resort  to  such  means. 
Surely  he  might  have  been  content  with  the  income  you  so 
generously  gave  him." 

Honore  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"'  Perhaps  it  will  be  better  if  I  tell  you  all  I  know,"  he 
said,  finally. 

^*  Please  do!" 

"  It  is  very  little,  but  it  aids  me  to  find  a  cause  for  his 
actions.     It  was  by  a  mere  accident  that  I  learned  of  it. 

*'It  seems  that  some  time  before  we  left  Paris  he  became 
infatuated  with  a  very  beautiful  but  unprincipled  woman, 
the  wife,  I  believe,  of  a  disreputable  American  artist. 


176  THE  a:VIEKICAN  MARQUIS. 

^^  This  artist,  I  think,  used  his  knowledge  of  this  infatua- 
tion to  extort  money  from  Alphonse. 

^^At  any  rate,  he  approached  Alphonse  one  day  wlien 
we  were  talking  together  on  the  street,  and  Alplionse,  in 
some  terror  and  annoyance,  as  it  seemed  to  ine,  stepped 
aside  with  him  and  held  a  whispered  conversation. 

''  What  was  said  I  don^t  know,  except  that  the  artist, 
whom  I  knew  by  sight,  became  angry  and  said,  loud  enough 
for  me  to  hear,  on  purpose,  I  think: 

*'  '  You  must.     Eemember  the  13th  of  ISTovember,  18G5.' 

^^  ^Hush!^  exclaimed  Alphonse.     '  I  willT  ^^ 

Grace,  who  had  been  growing  more  and  more  ghastly 
every  moment,  seemed  now  about  to  lose  consciousness. 

Seeing  which,  Honore  led  her  to  a  seat,  and  said,  ten- 
derly: 

^' There,  my  darling;  I  knew  this  was  not  fit  for  you  to 
hear.     Let  us  say  no  more  about  it.^^ 

^'  I — I  am — am  better — now,^^  she  gasped,  making  a  piii- 
f  ul  effort  to  recall  her  strength.  ''  Please— go — on.  I — I 
think  rd — better — hear  it — all.^' 

''Poor,  dear  little  Grace!  Don't  take  it  too  much  to 
heart.  It  is  sad  for  Alphonse,  but  we  will  live  here  retired 
from  the  world,  and " 

'*  Yes,  dear;  yes,^'  she  interrupted,  nervously  patting  his 
hand.     *' But — but  this  artist — did  you  learn  his  namel"" 

^'I  did,  dear.  Let  me  see.  Was  it  Fulton?  Xo,  that 
wasn't  it.  Clinton?  Yes,  it  was  Clinton.  No;  it  was 
Hastings.     That's  it — Clinton  Hastings.'^ 

A  moan  fell  from  G racers  white  lips. 

''Poor  fellow!'^  continued  Honore.  Just  before  we  came 
away  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed — poisoned,  the  papers 
said. '' 

'^  Alphonse  did  it  I"  shrieked  Grace. 

Honore  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  look  of  horror  on  his  face. 

''Don't,  Honore!^  Oh,  don't!  Stay  with  me!  Please  stay 
with  me.  If  you  leave  me  I  shall  go  mad.  I  am  innocent, 
indeed  I  am." 

She  fell  on  her  knees  and  clasped  her  hands  supplica- 

To  her  excited  imagination,  it  seemed  that  her  husband 
must  suspect  her. 

"  Grace,  my  darling,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  her  up,  ''don't 
so  on  so.      Your  wretched  brother's  misdeeds   need    not 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  177 

afPect  you.  Oh,  I  am  angry  when  I  think  of  all  the  shame 
that  must  fall  on  my  pure  and  innocent  wife  because  of  that 
worthless  fellow/' 

*^But,  Honore,  I  must  tell  you " 

^^  You  must  tell  me  nothing  now,  darling/^ 

^'  Oh,  Honore,  if  you  only  knew/^ 

*' There,  my  darling,  there!" 

It  was  as  if  he  was  talking  to  a  little  child. 

''  I  must  tell  you  now." 

Grace  felt  that  she  must  unburden  her  aching  heart  and 
satisfy  her  conscience. 

Ilonore,  however,  refused  to  listen,  and  at  last  the  worn- 
out,  heart-weary  woman  acquiesced,  and  sat  looking  at  her 
husband  in  dumb  despair. 

*'  Grace,  dear,"  he  said,  after  several  minutes  of  reflec- 
tion, ^^  I  think  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  hurry  to  Paris, 
and  do  what  I  can  to  aid  your  miserable  brother.  It  may 
not  be  too  late." 

Grace  offered  no  opposition. 

The  succession  of  shocks  coming  to  her  had  plunged  her 
into  a  sort  of  stupor. 

Her  senses  were  benumbed  by  excessive  suffering. 

Honore  hastily  prepared  for  his  departure. 

Grace  embraced  him  mechanically,  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  notice  it. 

'^  I  will  walk  to  the  station,"  he  said.  ^^  I  have  time 
enough,  and  theexer^ise  will  be  good  for  me.'^ 

^*  Yes,^^  she  answered. 

He  embraced  her  for  a  last  time,  and  was  gone. 

She  mechanically  waved  an  answering  kiss  to  him  as  he 
passed  through  the  gate. 

But  long  after  he  had  gone  she  stood  on  the  marble  steps, 
gazing  vacantly  into  space. 

She  was  still  standing  there  when  her  maid  came  to  an- 
nounce the  midday  meal. 

^^  Will  your  ladyship  come  into  dinner?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,'''  she  said,  without  moving,  "I  will  come." 

^'  It  is  waiting,  your  ladyship." 

^' We  all  have  to  wait;  but  the  time  will  oome.^' 

The  startled  maid  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her  mistress,  and 
was  shocked  to  see  her  pallor. 

''You  are  ill,  my  lady, '^  she  said,  gently,  ^'may  I  assist 
you?'^ 


178  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

She  gave  Grace  her  arm  and  carefully  led  her  to  the 
dining-room. 

Grace  ate  the  meal  unconsciously  almost,  and  then  went 
to  her  room  and  locked  herself  in. 

**  Murder  and  deceit/'  she  murmered.  ^*  Murder  and 
deceit.^' 

She  searched  in  one  of  her  closets. 

The  -same  blank  expression  filled  her  eyes,  and  she  did 
not  cease  to  repeat: 

'*  Murder  and  deceit.^' 

When  she  emerged  from  the  closet  she  held  one  of  her 
husband's  pistols  in  her  hand. 

'^  Murder  and  deceit.  Everything  is  red  with  blood.  It 
is  on  my  hands. ^^ 

She  cocked  the  pistol. 

^^  When  Honore  returns  he  will  know  all  about  it.  He 
would  not  let  me  tell  him.  Now  Alphonse,  the  murderer, 
will  tell  him.  Honore  will  be  angry  with  his  Grace.  I 
could  not  bear  that.  I  will  die  now,  and  when  he  comes  he 
will  be  sorry.  He  will  miss  his  little  Grace,  but  he  can 
never  know  how  she  loved  him. 

^^Good-by,  Honore  darling. ^^ 


CHAPTER  L. 

TETE-DE-FER  HEARS  FROM  PARIS. 

^^Well,  ami,  have  you  told  the  marquis  and  the  lady  the 
story  yet  ? ' 

' '  I  have  just  told  it.'^ 

''  Good.  You  may  go  to  Paris  now,  if  you  wish,  though 
I  would  advise  you  not  to.^^ 

'MVhyr 

Tete-de-Fer  knew  Bras-de-Fer^s  ways  so  well  that  he  sus- 
pected something  unpleasant. 

Bras-de-Fer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

•'  Elise  has. moved,  I  am  told/^ 

^^  Where  tor 

^^I  do  not  know.^^ 

^'Why  did  she  move?^' 

^^  Oh,  come  now,  a7m,  if  you  are  going  to  be  so  fierce  I 
will  not  dare  to  go  on.''' 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  179 

He  laughed. 

Tete-de-Fer  feared  all  that  jealousy  could  suggest. 

''Tell  me/'  he  shouted,  '*tell  me  why  she  moved." 

''Ho,  ho!     Does  Tete-de-Fer  use  that  tone  to  me?" 

'*  It  is  your  doing,  devil,  that  she  has  left  me.  It  was  for 
this  you  sent  me  from  Paris.'' 

Tete-de-Fer,  with  his  blood  on  fire,  flung  down  his  gar- 
dener's tools  and  was  rushing  away. 

"Stop,  ami.'^ 

Furious  as  he  was,  he  could  not  overcome  the  spell  of  that 
imperious  tone. 

He  stopped. 

"  Do  you  command  me  to  tell  you  why  she  moved,  or  do 
you  humbly  beg  me  to  tell  you?" 

"  I  beg  it." 

"Are  you  sorry  for  using  that  tone  to  me?" 

"I  am  sorry." 

"Ah!  this  is  more  like  my  gentle  Tete-de-Fer!'^ 

Tete-de-Fer  was  furiously  gnawing  his  mustache. 

"Well,  listen,  then,  and  I  will  tell  you — only  you  must 
be  calm.     Will  you  be  calm?" 

''  Mon  Dieu  I     Do  not  torture  me." 

"  But  will  you  be  calm?" 

"  Yes." 

He  looked  like  a  raging  wild  beast. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  handsome  young  French  Amer- 
ican whom  you  got  the  money  from  in  America? — the  man 
of  the  secret,  masked  marriage?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"He  was  very  handsome,  was  he  not?" 

Bras-de-Fer  spoke  meditatively. 

Tete-de-Fer  fairly  danced. 

"Will  you  tell  me,  wretch,  about  Elise?" 

"Tut,  tut!  my  good  Kobert;  you  must  not  call  names." 

"  Oh!  Grand  Dieu  !  But  you  are  driving  me  crazy,  and 
I  do  not  know  what  I  say." 

"  You  are  very  sorry,  then,  for  calling  me  a  wretch?" 

"I  am,  I  am.     But  tell  me — tell  me!" 

"  Well,  that  handsome  young  man  saw  the  pretty  Elise. 
You  would  be  delighted  to  see  what  a  lovely  couple  they 
make  on  the  Boulevard.     People  turn  round  and  say " 

"Fiend!  fiend!  fiend!"  howled  Tete-de-Fer^  striding  fu- 
riously away. 


180  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS, 

''Stop,  amir 

Tete-de-Fer  kept  on. 

''Stop,  Ami!" 

He  stopped. 

"  Come  back!'' 

He  retraced  his  steps. 

''  You  called  me  fiend— are  you  sorry  ?^^ 

^^Yes.'^ 

''  You  are  so  hasty,  Eobert.  Now,  listen.  You  cannot 
blame  Elise.  He  gives  her  everything  she  asks: — fine  apart- 
ments— a  whole  suite,  fitted  up  for  a  princess — horses,  car- 
riage, jewels,  and  such  clothes T' 

The  thought  of  another  being  loved  by  Elise  was  madden- 
ing to  Tete-de-Fer. 

•a  will  kill  her.'' 

^^You  talk  like  a  child.  You  can't  kill  her — you  know 
it.  If  you  could,  it  would  do  you  no  good.  If  I  were  you, 
I  would  make  her  stop  loving  him.'' 

^^How?" 

''  By  making  him  ugly.     He  is  now  so  handsome." 

^^Howcanl?" 

''  You  never  heard  of  Caesar,  of  course.  He  was  a  wise 
general  of  olden  times.  He  told  his  old  soldiers  to  strike  at 
the  faces  of  the  handsome  young  Romans  in  the  army. 
They  did,  and  they  were  successful." 

''  You  want  me  to  cut  his  face?" 

'^  I  want  you  to  do  nothing.  I  merely  tell  you  a  story. 
You  may  do  as  you  please.  By  the  way,  a  knife  is  an  ugly 
thing,  but  it  is  useful  sometimes.     Have  you  one?" 

^^Yes." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

Tete-de-Fer  gave  it  to  him. 

"Pshaw!  That  is  not  sharp  at  all.  If  you  like,  you 
may  have  this  nice  one.  It  belonged  to  our  handsome  young 
friend  once.     Perhaps  you  remember  it." 

"It  is  the  one  he  stuck  into  me." 

"Yes.     Now  go." 

*^  You  have  not  told  me  where  she  lives." 

"True." 

"  Will  you  tell  me?" 

''  Inquire  at  her  former  apartment." 

"  You  are  not  going  back?" 


THE  AMEEIOAN  MAEQUIS.  181 

^^  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  inquiring  into  my  busi- 
ness." 

^^I  may  go,  then?'^ 

^^  Yes;  but  in  your  place  I  would  take  with  me  that  crazy 
mayor^s  money.     You  may  need  it  for  pretty  Elise/' 


CHAPTER  LI. 

ELISE    AND   ALPHON'SE. 

It  was  as  Bras-de-Fer  had  said;  Elise  no  longer  lived  in 
one  modest  apartment  in  a  quiet  quarter  of  the  city. 

She  was  sumptuously  installed  in  a  magnificent  suite. 

She  wore  only  silks  and  satins,  and  her  dazzling  beauty 
was  remarked  on  the  Boulevard. 

Alphonse  was  a  devoted  but  not  happy  lover, 

Elise  had  told  him  that  she  feared  but  one  man,  and  he 
soon  discovered  it. 

She  had  treated  him  with  humiliating  scorn,  or  easy  care- 
lessness, just  as  the  mood  took  her. 

She  made  him  wait  upon  her  like  a  lackey,  and  when  he 
asked  for  some  reward,  told  him  he  ought  to  be  satisfied 
with  the  pleasure  of  serving  her. 

If  he  complained  too  loudly,  she  threatened  to  close  her 
doors  against  him. 

The  day  succeeding  the  enlightenment  of  Tete-de-Fer, 
Alphonse  was  earnestly  beseeching  her  not  to  torment  him 
any  longer. 

^' You  said  you  would  love  me  if  I  killed  the  artist.'' 

^'Bahl  what  an  ugly  word.  But  you  are  mistaken;  I 
only  said  I  would  try," 

''You  have  not  even  tried.^^ 

''I  have  not  dared." 

•'Whyr 

''You  have  asked  for  my  love,  but  you  have  not  asked 
me  to  be  your  wife." 

"Wifer 

"Yes,   wife.      Wicked    wretch,    do    you    dare    to    tell 

me '" 

"x\hl  Elise,  you  are  only  making  an  excuse  for  getting 
angry  with  me." 

"An  excuse!  Not  your  wife!  Will  you  leave  my  house? 
Not  his  wife!     Oh!  Heaven!  how  he  insults  me.'^ 


182  THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS. 

Elise  was  in  a  magnificent  passion. 

^'I  did  not  mean  it,  Elise.  I  will  marry  you  if  you 
wish  it/' 

^^  He  will  marry  me  if  I  wish  it !  Mon  Bieu !  As  if  I 
were  begging  him  to  marry  me.     There  is  the  door." 

She  pointed  to  it  in  indignation. 

^^Will  you  hear  me,  Elise?'' 

Alphonse  was  very  humble. 

^'  Go  on,  but  do  not  venture  to  insult  me  again." 

' '  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  make  you  my  wife.  You 
know  I  adore  you  and  live  for  you  alone.'' 

^^  Mere  talk." 

''  Have  I  not  proved  it?" 

He  looked  around  the  richly  furnished  apartments. 

'^  Did  you  think,  then,  that  you  had  purchased  me  like 
a  slave?" 

''  You  know  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  would  give  you  i^w 
times  as  much  if  I  had  it,  and  think  myself  happy  if  you 
would  take  it." 

^^Bah!" 

^MVill  you  be  my  wife,  my  beautiful  Elise?" 

A  servant  entered  the  room. 

^^  A  gentleman  would  like  to  see  mademoiselle." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  reception-room. '* 

"What  name?" 

"  He  would  not  give  it,  but  said  it  was  about  urgent  busi- 
ness that  he  wished  to  see  you." 

"  Tell  him  I  know  of  no  business.     I  am  engaged." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  must  see  you." 

It  was  the  Marquis  d'Iberri  who  stepped  mournfully  into 
the  room. 

"Honore!"  exclaimed  Alphonse,  overcome  by  his  guilty 
fears 

"How  dare  you?" 

Elise  did  not  recognize  Bras-de-Fer. 

"Forgive  me,  mademoiselle,"  said  Honore,  sadly,  "if  I 
force  myself  upon  you.  This  man,"  pointing  to  Alphonse, 
**  will  tell  you  that  I  have  a  right  to  be  here,  since  it  was 
my  money  paid  for  all  this." 

"Who  are  you,  then?" 

Alphonse  did  not  speak.  He  hung  his  head  in  fear  and 
Bhamc. 


THE  AMEEICAN  MARQUIS.  183 

^^I  am  the  Marquis  cFIberri." 

'^  Well,  and  what  of  thatr 

^'  Alphonse,  tell  this  lady  that  I  must  see  you  alone  for  a 
few  minutes/^ 

Alphonse  hesitated;  he  dreaded  an  outbreak  from  the 
human  tigress. 

*' Well/'  she  said,  scornfully  surveying  him,  ^^why  do 
you  not  tell  this  gentleman  that  he  has  made  a  mistake, 
and  that  this  is  my  house,  in  which,  without  my  permis- 
sion, nobody  holds  secret  conferences/^ 

'^Alphonse,  please  go  into  that  room.  I  wish  to  say  a 
few  words  in  explanation  to  this  lady.^^ 

Glad  to  escape  even  for  a  moment,  Alphonse  hastily  re- 
tired before  Elise  could  stop  him.  ^ 

^'Well,  monsieur/'  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  the  mar- 
quis, *^  explain,  then,  why  you  come  into  my  house  and  give 
orders." 

^  at  is  I,  Elise— Bras-de-Fer.     Hush !" 

^*I  am  glad  to  see  you.  How  handsome  and  grand  you 
are!  Oh,  let  me  have  a  good  look  at  you.  Always  a 
man.'' 

Elise  greedily  studied  his  face  and  poured  out  her  words 
of  love  and  admiration  like  the  savage  creature  she  was. 

She  seemed  to  care  nothing  that  he  did  not  love  her. 

''  I  must  see  him  at  once.  Robert  is  on  his  way  here. 
After  him  the  officers  are  coming." 

*^  Robert  is  coming?  Pshaw!  but  we  shall  have  a  circus, 
and  my  poor  little  man  in  there?" 

Robert  knows  what  he  is  to  do  about  him." 

'^And  the  officers?" 

^'Thevwill  take  Robert  only.  I  will  save  the  other 
one." 

^^Andl?" 

^^  When  I  snap  my  fingers  so,  you  will  come  to  me  and 
say  you  love  me." 

^^And  you  will  put  your  arm  around  me?" 

'^Strange  woman!     Yes." 

^^Good.     I  will  do  it." 

^^  Have  you  a  room  for  me  as  I  told  you,  with  all  my  traps 
in  it?" 

^^  Exactly  as  you  told  me." 

' '  You  have  been  a  good  girl,  Elise. " 

He  held  out  his  hand. 


184  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

She  seized  it  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 
^I  am  repaid/^  she  said. 


CHAPTEE  LIL 

TETE-DE-FER  ALMOST  FORGETS   C^SAR. 

•*  Alphonse,  I  know  all  about  the  forgeries.  ^^ 

*^  Forgive  me,  D'Iberri,     I '^ 

^'Forgive  you?  Unfortunately  this  is  the  easiest  part 
of  it.  The  bank  has  notified  me  that  the  police  have 
the  matter  in  hand.  Any  moment  they  may  track  you 
here.'^ 

'  *  Mon  Dieu !     What  shall  I  do  ? 

^^  Have  you  any  money ?'^ 

''  No.^^ 

^^  Here  are  some  bills.  Now  wait  till  I  am  gone.  Then 
slip  out  of  the  house,  and  get  to  D^Iberri  if  you  can.  You 
will  be  safe  there." 

^'  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you?'^ 

''  Think  of  that  later.'' 

Honore  passed  quickly  into  the  next  room  where  Elise 
awaited  him. 

'*  Keep  him  here  till  Robert  comes.  Stop!  I  have  forgot- 
ten something. '' 

He  ran  back  to  Alphonse,  and  taking  from  under  his  coat 
a  stout  club,  handed  it  to  him. 

'^  You  may  be  in  need  of  something  like  this.  Do  not  be 
captured. '^ 

Alphonse  glanced  hastily  at  the  club  and  wished  it  was 
a  knife. 

He  waited  long  enough  to  let  Honore  get  out  of  the 
house. 

In  the  next  room  he  found  Elise  pacing  up  and  down  in 
a  most  furious  state. 

She  would  not  listen  to  what  he  said,  but  poured  out  upon 
him  a  flood  of  angry  exclamations. 

He  tried  to  get  away,  but  like  a  tigress  she  sprang  before 
him  and  barred  his  way. 

He  pleaded;  she  stormed. 

Finally  her  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  an  altercation 
near  the  door. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  185 

At  once  she  threw  herself  into  Alphonse's  arms,  and  be- 
gan to  lavish  caresses  on  him. 

Tete-de-Fer  bounded  into  the  room  with  a  yell  of  rage 
more  like  what  might  come  from  a  wild  beast. 

Elise  cast  Alphonse  away  from  her,  and  with  one  hand 
hidden  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  leaned  against  the  center- 
table,  with  a  smile  of  curiosity  on  her  face. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

Alphonse  stared  in  wild  fear  at  Tete-de-Fer.  He  had 
thought  him  dead. 

Tete-de-Fer  turned  to  Elise. 

^' You  love  him — him,  a  little  toy-man?'^ 

Elise  laughed  merrily.  She  enjoyed  the  rage  of  this, 
brute. 

'^  At  least,  he  is  good-looking.^^ 

^^Then  I  will  spoil  his  looks.'' 

Tete-de-Fer  made  a  frightful  effort  to  adopt  the  careless, 
mocking  tone  of  his  Bras-de-Fer. 

^' Look  you,  my  pretty  face,'"  he  said  to  Alphonse,  '^do 
you  see  this  little  knife?  You  left  it  sticking  in  my  ribs 
once.     I  am  going  to  carve  you  now.^^ 

His  eyes  glared  ferociously. 

Alphonse  knew  he  could  not  escape. 

He  drew  the  club  from  under  his  coat  and  took  a  wary 
attitude. 

This  only  enraged  Tete-de-Fer.    ^ 

He  sprang  at  Alphonse  to  clutch  him  by  the  throat. 

Alphonse  struck  fiercely  at  him  and  hit  him  on  the 
head. 

Tete-de-Fer  staggered. 

A  little  stream  of  blood  trickled  over  his  forehead. 

Alphonse  anticipated  victory.     He  tried  to  smile  at  Elise. 

Tete-de-Fer  intercepted  the  smile  and  was  crazy. 

Reckless  of  the  club,  he  sprang  once  more  at  Alphonse, 
and  in  spite  of  the  struggles  of  the  latter  caught  him  by  the 
throat. 

He  forgot  the  story  of  C^sar  for  a  moment,  and  buried 
the  dagger  in  the  body  of  Alphonse. 

Alphonse  staggered;  his  legs  gave  way  under  him,  and  he 
sank. 

Tete-de-Fer  then  remembered  Caesar,  and  deliberately  slit 
the  nose  of  the  unfortunate  wretch. 


186  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.. 

Even  Elise  turned  sick  at  that,  and  cried  out* 

*^  You  brute  r^ 

'^Ah!     It  shall  be  your  turn  now/^ 

He  was  drunk  with  blood  and  excitement. 

He  arose  from  the  bleeding  body  and  rushed  at  Elise. 

She  merely  stiffened  her  arm,  and  held  the  shining  point 
of  her  dagger  straight  before  her. 

Tete-de-Fer  stopped  short.  He  knew  a  scratch  would 
suffice  to  kill  him. 

Bras-de-Fer  stood  in  the  door-way. 

^^  The  police  are  coming  U23  stairs.  If  you  love  freedom 
go  out  the  back  way.^^ 

Tete-de-Fer  hesitated.     He  was  unable  to  think  clearly. 

^"^  Oh,  well,  if  you  prefer  to  stay,  all  right. ^^ 

'^1^0,  no.     Which  way  shall  I  go?" 

^^'Out  that  door." 

Tete-de-Fer  disappeared. 

''Quick,  now,  Elise.  To  your  old  apartment.  Get  my 
bed  ready  for  him." 

Elise  left  without  a  word. 

Bras-de-Fer  took  Alphonse  in  his  arms,  and  quietly  car- 
ried him  down  stairs  and  put  him  into  a  carriage. 

The  police  were  after  Tete-de-Fer,  and  had  captured 
him. 

The  bank  cashier  had  not  yet  made  a  complaint  against 
Alphonse. 

In  forgetting  Caesar,  Tete- de-Fer  had  spoiled  Clinton's 
plans. 


CHAPTER   LIII. 

WHAT    HAPPENED   AT   D'IBERRI. 

Grace  lifted  the  pistol.     Her  finger  was  on  the  trigger. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  a  picture  of  her  husband. 

She  uttered  a  cry. 

Since  her  husband  had  kissed  her  good-by,  her  eyes  had 
been  fixed  on  vacancy.  She  had  lived  a  dream — a  dream  of 
guilt. 

Tho  pistol  fell  from  her  hand.     She  burst  into  tears. 

She  was  scarcely  conscious  of  the  crime  she  had  almost 
committed,  but  she  shuddered  when  she  looked  at  the  pis- 
tol. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  187 

'^  I  was  out  of  my  mind/^  she  whispered.  ^^  Thank 
Heaven  I  did  not  do  it!  When  Honore  returns  I  will  tell 
him  everything.  This  time  I  will.  He  shall  not  prevent 
me.  Better  anything  than  this  daily  torture.  Why,  I  am 
almost  crazy. '^ 

She  grew  calmer.  It  was  a  desperate  sort  of  calmness — 
such  a  calmness  as  a  condemned  man  might  summon  up  to 
meet  death  with. 

She  tested  her  strength  and  went  into  the  dreaded  rooms. 

If  Honore  would  forgive  her,  she  would  learn  to  love  these 
rooms  for  his  sake. 

^' But  no/'  she  said  to  herself;  ^'1  must  not  think  of 
that.  He  will  not  forgive  me.  Well,  then,  I  shall  die.  1 
could  not  live  without  his  love.''* 

The  time  dragged  slowly  along  until  the  next  day  at  noon, 
when  a  letter  from  Honore  was  brought  to  her. 

He  said  little  about  Alphonse,  but  filled  his  letter  with 
words  of  love  and  longing  for  his  little  wife.  He  would  be 
home  that  night. 

Gi'ace  kissed  the  dear  letter  as  if  it  were  all  that  re- 
mained to  her  of  her  love.  Indeed,  she  almost  had  that 
feeling. 

The  hours  now  seemed  to  drag  more  slowly  than  ever,  and 
yet  they  sped  by  with  frightful  rapidity. 

She  wished  to  see  her  husband  and  she  dreaded  to. 

She  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  chateau,  and  at  length 
made  her  way  to  the  square  chamber,  where  she  sat  down, 
and,  in  memory,  went  over  the  events  of  that  night  so  few 
years  ago. 

A  footstep  at  that  moment  caused  her  to  look  up. 

Clinton  Hastings  stood  before  her. 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  wildly;  then  recovered 
her  composure,  like  one  who  had  suffered  all  and  was  now 
callous. 

*'  Are  you  not  dead,  then?*^  she  asked. 

^'No,  base  woman!  I  am  alive,  and  I  come  here  to  re- 
mind you  of  your  words  of  the  13th  of  November  three 
years  ago.  By  this  ring^^ — he  held  up  a  sapphire  ring — 
^^  I  claim  you  for  my  wife!"' 

He  waited,  but  she  did  not  open  her  1  pS:  Her  heart  was 
numb  with  the  exquisite  pain  she  suffertd. 

This,  however,  must  be  the  last.  Her  husband  had  come 
to  claim  her,  and  now  all  was  over  with  her. 


188  THE  AMEKICAN  MAEQUIS. 

^^  You  do  not  answer.    Do  you  dispute  my  claim  to  you?^^ 

-No/^ 

She  spoke  without  excitement. 

''And  you  will  go  with  me?^' 

*'  I  will.^^ 

^' Come,  then.'' 

*'  I  must  beg  you  to  grant  me  a  few  hours  in  which  to 
prepare.  I  would  like  to  write  a  letter  to  my — to  the  Mar- 
quis d^Iberri.     I  would  like  to  explain  to  him  why  I  go.'' 

'MYhere  will  you  meet  me,  and  when?" 

''  It  is  for  you  to  name  the  time  and  place.  I  will  be 
punctual." 

''  No.  27  Eue  d'Artois,  Paris;  third  floor;  at  9  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning." 

''I  will  be  there." 

''Without  fail?" 

"Without  fail." 

Clinton  left  the  room.  Where  he  went  or  how  he  had 
found  his  way  there  mattered  not  to  Grace. 

It  was  enough  for  her  that  he  had  come. 

She  accepted  her  fate.  She  had  been  at  fault.  Maybe 
Heaven  would  be  satisfied  now.  She  had  suffered  all  she 
could,  and  might  be  allowed  to  die,  perhaps. 

Everything  Honore  had  given  her  she  put  aside,  first 
tenderly  kissing  each  object. 

She  shed  no  tears. 

She  made  no  effort  to  collect  any  clothing  to  take  with 
her.     She  put  on  a  plain  traveiing-dtess. 

Then  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Honore.  She 
would  not  allow  herself  to  think  of  what  he  would  say,  or 
do,  orthmk. 

She  was  not  his  wife,  and  never  could  be  now. 

Innocent  as  she  was  of  intentional  wrong,  she  was  so 
affected  by  all  the  harrowing  events  of  the  past  few  days 
that  she  had  come  to  look  upon  herself  as  a  guilty  woman. 

She  sealed  the  letter,  kissed  it,  and  placed  it  on  a  little 
table  where  Honore  could  not  fail  to  see  it. 

Then  she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  calmly  left  the  room. 

The  moment  she  was  gone,  Clinton  slipped  through 
the  secret  door  in  the  wall,  took  the  letter,  and  disap- 
peared. 

Grace  ordered  the  carriage,  and  leaving  word  that  she 
would  not  return  for  some  time,  was  driven  to  the  station. 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  189 

On  the  same  train  that  took  Grace  to  Paris  was  Bras-de- 
Fer. 

He  watched  her  closely  all  the  way  to  the  hotel  in 
Paris,  where,  having  seen  her  registered  as  Mrs.  Hastings, 
he  left  her,  feeling  that  she  was  not  intending  to  play  him 
false. 

How  to  account  for  her  calmness  he  did  not  know.  In  his 
diseased  frame  of  mind  he  sought  only  for  an  unworthy 
reason. 

He  was  so  filled  with  the  idea  that  Grace  was  playing  a 
part,  that  every  loving  impulse  that  sprang  from  his  heart 
and  prompted  him  to  forego  his  revengeful  designs^  he  an- 
grily put  aside  as  a  weakness. 

Now  that  his  carefully  prepared  vengeance  was  about  to  be 
consummated  he  was  unable  to  retain  any  sort  of  internal 
composure. 

His  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  He  strode  along  the  streets 
without  taking  heed  of  where  he  was  going. 

He  had  not  yet  read  the  letter  which  Grace  had  written. 
He  could  guess  what  it  would  be,  and  had  no  curiosity  to 
read  it. 

All  night  he  walked,  keeping  up  all  the  time  a  fight 
against  his  better  self,  which  told  him  that  he  should 
pause. 

Every  suggestion  to  good  he  treated  as  a  temptation 
from  the  evil  one. 

Day  was  dawning  when  he  re-entered  Paris  and  made  his 
way  to  Eue  d'Artois. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

AN   OLD    STORY   RETOLD. 

Clinton  knocked  at  the  door  of  Elise^s  apartment. 

She  let  him  in. 

''How  isAlphonse?'' 

''Much  better.     The  wound  is  not  fatal.'' 

"  Then  he  can  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  him?" 

"Yes.'' 

"I  will  go  in  then.'' 

"Bras-de-Fer." 

"Yes,  Elise." 

"  You  did  not  snap  your  fingers  the  other  day." 


190  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

He  smiled  sadly.  He  could  not  even  pretend  to  make 
any  return  for  the  blind  worship  of  this  wild  creature. 

"  No,  Elise,  I  did  not  expect  Eobert  to  strike  so  hard. 
Perhaps  I  may  snap  my  fingers  to-day.''^ 

He  went  into  the  next  room.  Alphonse  looked  at  him  in 
surprise. 

^'  You  here!'^  he  exclaimed,  feebly. 

Clinton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  forgot  that  he  was 
Bras-de-Fer. 

"  Where  should  I  be?'^ 

Alphonse  was  still  more  surprised. 

Neither  manner  nor  voice  was  Bras-de-Fer's. 

Clinton  became  conscious  that  he  was  not  acting  his  part 
properly.     But  what  did  it  matter  now. 

''You  think  I  am  Bras-de-Fer.  Undeceive  yourself,  I 
am  Clinton  Hastings.'" 

Alphonse  started. 

'^  Yes,  I  am  your  brother-in-law,  and  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  a  story." 

The  door  leading  into  the  other  room  was  suddenly 
thrown  open  and  Elise  sprang  in. 

'"'Eobert  is  here.''^ 

"Escaped?" 

''Yes.^^ 

*'  Good.  Heaven  is  kind,  or  otherwise,  to  send  him  here 
to  hear  my  story.  By  and  by  she  will  be  here  too.  Let 
him  come  in.  Ah!  There  he  is.  Welcome,  ami.  We  are 
well  met.  I  was  just  going  to  tell  this  sick  man  a  story. 
You  may  listen. 

Tete-de-Fer  stared  about  him  in  stupefied  amazement. 

Elise  sat  down  and  enjoyed  the  scene.  It  was  a  perfect 
delight  to  her  to  watch  the  masterful  ways  of  Bras-de- 
Fer.  Then,  too,  she  hoped  now  that  he  would  snap  his 
fingers. 

"  W^hat  does  it  mean?^^ 

Tete-de-Fer  pointed  to  Alphonse,  and  glanced  about 
the  room  comprehensively  as  if  his  question  included  every- 
thing. 

''It  means  this."*^ 

Clinton  with  his  marvelous  dexterity  and  strength  had 
suddenly  caught  Tete-de-Fer  and  pinned  his  arms  behind 
him. 


THE  AMEKIOAN  MARQUIS.  191 

Tete-de-Fer  uttered  an  imprecation  and  made  an  eli'ort 
to  free  himself. 

^*  Quiet,  cwii,  or  1^11  t\^ist  your  arms.  Elise  bring  me  a 
rope.  I  must  tie  this  wild  beast  or  he  may  not  be  willing  to 
stay  here  and  listen  to  my  story. '■" 

Elise  brought  a  rope  from  her  room. 

With  his  arms  bound  Tete-de-Fer  leaned  sullenly  against 
the  wall. 

Alphonse  had  viewed  the  strange  occurrence  with  increas- 
ing fear. 

He  began  to  see  how  completely  he  had  been  duped  and 
played  with. 

Clinton  placed  himself  so  that  he  could  see  the  two  men, 
and  they  could  see  him. 

'^  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  story,  you  two.  Part  of  it  you 
know,  part  of  it  you  do  not. 

''  On  the  13th  of  November,  1865,  a  poor  artist  was  trapped 
into  a  marriage.     I  need  not  describe  the  ceremony. 

*'He  was  taken  from  his  wife  blindfolded.  That  had 
been  agreed  upon. 

*' Three  men  set  upon  him  to  kill  him.  He  killed  two  of 
them  and  escaped. 

*^He  swore  he  would  be  avenged.  He  needed  money  to 
do  anything;  but  he  was  patient.  He  took  the  money 
which  had  been  paid  to  the  hired  assassins,  and  went  to 
California  and  speculated.  In  two  years  he  was  worth 
millions. 

'*  He  was  very  lucky  in  that  and  other  things,  as  you  will 
see. 

"  He  hunted  for  the  people  who  had  injured  him*,  and 
found  them,  excepting,  of  course,  the  two  who  were  dead. 

''  Who  are  they?     Listen. 

''Grace  Howard,  Alphonse  Gorinot,  Robert  Caradoc,  and 
the  Mayor  of  DTberri. 

The  mayor,  luckily  for  him,  is  crazy.  I  used  one  of  the 
offenders  to  punish  him. 

"  Kobert  Caradoc,  now  that  you  know  me,  you  can  say  if 
I  have  made  you  suffer.    . 

'•'I  have  used  you  to  punish  the  others,  and  have  not 
ceased  to  torment  you.  I  found  out  what  was  dearest  to 
you  and  struck  you  there. 

'^  It  was  through  me  that  Elise  met  him  and  cast  you 
aside. 


192  THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS. 

^^Alphonse  Gorinot,  you  are  more  guilty.  See  how  I 
have  made  you  pay  for  yonr  villainy/^ 

He  quickly  stripped  from  his  face  the  peculiarities  of 
Bras-de-Fer,  and  showed  Alphonse  the  features  of  the  Mar- 
quis d'Iberri. 

Alphonse  gasped  and  stared,  but  spoke  no  word. 

^^  I  have  made  your  life  a  torment.  Every  evil  thing  that 
has  happened  to  you  has  come  through  me.  I  need  not  re- 
hearse what  has  hajDpened. 

'^  But  even  that  wound  and  disfigurement  you  owe  to  me. 
I  gave  him  the  knife — your  own  knife — to  do  it  with;  just 
as  I  gave  you  the  club  he  tried  to  murder  me  with,  and 
with  which  you  tried  to  break  his  head. 

''  If  you  live  it  will  be  in  prison.  He,  too,  will  spend  his 
life  in  prison. 

^^And  now  see;  the  woman  you  two  have  been  commit- 
ting your  violence  for,  loves  neither  of  you,  she  loves  me. 

^as  it  not  so,  Elise?" 

He  snapped  hi^  fingers,  and  she  sprang  lovingly  into  his 
arms. 

At  this  Tete-de-Fer  made  a  frightful  effort  to  burst  his 
bonds. 

He  could  not  break  them,  but  he  did  loosen  them,  and  he 
took  advantage  of  the  fact. 

He  quietly  and  persistently  worked  away  until  his  arms 
were  free.  ISo  one  had  observed  what  he  was  doing.  He 
bided  his  time. 

In  the  meantime  Clinton  had  put  the  reluctant  Elise 
away  from  him  and  turned  to  Alphonse. 

^' It  will  not  hurt  your  selfish  soul  to  know  about  Grace, 
but  in  order  that  3^ou  may  learn  how  complete  my  ven- 
geance has  beeU;  I  will  tell  you  that  she,  the  most  guilty,  has 
already  suffered  more  than  any  of  you. 

^'  I  have  gone  to  her  at  last  as  Clinton  Hasting?, 
and  forced  her  to  leave  the  luxury  of  D'Iberri.  She  does 
not  know,  and  shall  never  know,  that  her  two  husbands  are 
the  same  person.  She  shall  live  in  misery  with  me,  believ- 
ing that  the  Marquis  dlberri,  whom  she  loves,  I  believe, 
loathes  and  scorns  her.^^ 

He  had  forgotten  Tete-de-Fer,  and  had  his  back  to  him. 

A  scream  from  Elise  made  him  turn,  just  in  time  to  see 
Tete-de-Fer  plunge  a  knife  into  her  breast. 

One  leap  took  Clinton  to  the  side  of  the  monster. 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  193 

With  one  hand  he  snatched  the  knife  from  the  wound, 
and  with  the  other  caught  Tete-de-Fer  by  the  throat. 

Elise  fell  dying  on  the  floor. 

Tete-de-Fer  fell  by  her  side,  pierced  to  the  heart. 

Clinton  tenderly  lifted  the  dying  woman's  head. 

She  smiled  up  at  him. 

^^I  loved  you,  didn^t  I?"  she  murmured. 

Tears  rolled  down  the  stern  face  of  the  hard  man,  as  he 
nodded  yes. 

^' Will  you  kiss  me  now.     I  am  dying,  you  know?" 

He  leaned  over  her  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  lips. 

She  smiled. 

She  was  dead. 


CHAPTER   LV. 

A   PART  OF  THE  SAME  STORY. 

*as  she  dead?" 

It  was  a  whisper  from  Alphonse. 

*^Yes.'' 

"He,  too?'' 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  dying.'' 

Clinton  looked  coldly  at  him. 

"It  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do." 

"  I  suppose  it  is,  but  I  must  tell  you  what  you  do  not 
know." 

"  If  you  wish.     I  do  not  care  to  hear  it.^' 

"  You  will  forever  regret  it  if  you  do  not.  I  want  to 
tell  you  why  Grace  married  you.  My  mother  married 
Alphonse  Gorinot,  my  father,  against  the  wishes,  but  with  the 
reluctant  consent  of  her  father.  My  father  abused  my  mother 
by  neglecting  her.  Her  father  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them  after  their  marriage.  My  father  died.  My 
mother  then  took  me  and  went  to  live  with  her  father.  He 
did  not  like  me,  and  said  I  was  my  father  s  child.  At  her 
father's  entreaty  my  mother  married  an  American  gentle- 
man, Grace's  father.  The  marriage  was  a  very  happy  one, 
and  my  grandfather  was  delighted.  When  Grace  was  born 
he  devoted  himself  to  her.  When  he  died  he  left  his 
money,  a  goodly  fortune  to  her.  Our  mother  had  enough 
already.     A  provision  of  the  will  was  that  Grace  could  have 


194  THE  A^^IERICAN  MARQUIS. 

tlie  money  only  in  case  she  married  an  American.  Our 
father  and  mother  died,  and  Grace  and  I  were  brought  up 
in  America  by  Mr.  Howard^s  sister.  As  I  grew  older  I 
wished  for  money,  but  Miss  Howard  would  give  me  none, 
and  though  I  got  all  Grace  had,  it  was  not  enough.  I 
learned  of  the  will  one  day,  and  set  about  studying  how  I 
could  get  some  of  the  money.  I  knew  that  if  Grace  had 
the  money  I,  too,  could  have  plenty,  for  she  was  very  gen- 
erous, and  very  fond  of  me.  1  knew  also  that  any  husband 
she  might  have  would  probably  take  care  that  I  did  not 
squander  her  money.  Then  I  thought  of  the  plan  of 
having  some  starving  American  in  France — there  are  always 
plenty,  you  know — marry  her  for  a  sum  of  money,  without 
knowing  who  she  was,  and  then  leaving  her.  I  had  great 
difficulty  in  persuading  Grace  to  accede  to  my  plan,  but 
finally,  by  putting  it  in  its  most  romantic  light  and  treating 
it  as  a  frolic,  I  succeeded.  For  a  whole  year  I  plotted  and 
planned  without  avail  until  by  accident  I  learned  of  you. 
I  studied  your  ways  and  knew  you  thoroughly,  as  you  will 
remember.  I  was  sure  you  would  consent.  Then  Grace 
and  I  and  Miss  Howard  lived  quietly  and  unknown  in  the 
parish,  and  I  had  the  banns  published.  Miss  Howard,  how- 
ever, did  not  suspect  a  thing.  I  got  Daddy  Braune  to  find 
me  this  man  and  two  other  as  witnesses.  And  when  I 
found  out  what  sort  of  a  fellow  he  was,  I  used  him  to  nego- 
tiate with  the  mayor.  To  make  Grace  better  satisfied,  I 
hired  the  D'Iberri  chateau.  She  never  knew  its  name,  nor 
where  it  was,  for  I  knew  the  mystery  of  secrecy  would  please 
her.  That  is  why  she  never  was  startled  by  your  title.  I 
see  now  you  bought  it.  I  never  suspected  you,  though  I 
felt  that  it  was  a  strange  chance  that  made  you  marry 
Grace.  A  strange  freak  took  Grace  that  night,  and  she  fell 
in  love  with  you,  as  you  will  remember,  though  you  may 
have  doubted  it  since.  She  acted  with  such  infatuation, 
that  I  suspected  she  had  broken  her  promise  and  I  arranged 
with  this  man  to  kill  you.  Grace  knew  not'  a  word  of  it. 
He  assured  me  you  were  dead,  and  after  a  while  I  told 
Grace  of  it.  She  mourned  for  a  while,  and  then — she  was 
very  young — she  forgot,  I  suppose.  You  know  all  the 
rest.'* 

The  agony  suffered  by  Clinton  Hastings  during  that  re- 
cital cannot  be  measured  in  words. 

One  by  one  the  tortures  he  had  inflicted  on  his  gentle 


THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS.  195 

wife  came  up  before  him,  and  one  by  one  they  racked  his 
soul. 

He  took  no  heed  of  the  dying  man.  He  paced  the  cham- 
ber, stepping  at  each  turn  with  hideous  unconsciousness 
over  the  two  dead  bodies. 

*' Great  Heaven  r^  he  exclaimed,  ^^can  I  ever  atone  for 
this  awful  sin  against  one  of  your  angels.  Grace,  Grace, 
my  darling  wife,  can  you  look  at  me  again  without  loath- 
ing r 

He  suddenly  thought  of  her  letter  in  his  pocket.  He  hur- 
riedly drew  it  out  and  tore  it  open. 

**My  Dabling  Honobk  : — You  may  cease  to  love  me  when  you  read 
this  letter.  I  expect  that,  for  I  no  longer  have  any  right  to  your  love; 
but  you  may  be  able  to  forgive  me.     Please  do  so  if  you  can." 

After  that  followed  a  succinct  story  of  her  marriage  to 
Clinton  Hastings. 

She  plainly  said  that  at  that  moment  a  sudden  and  real 
love  for  her  husband  had  sprung  up  in  her  heart.  She 
could  not  explain  it,  but  she  would  confess  it. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  excuse  herself  or  shift  blame  or 
responsibility  on  Alphonse.    Then  she  went  on: 

"  When  I  first  saw  you,  my  Honore— please  let  me  call  you  so  until 
this  lel-er  is  finished.  When  I  close  this  letter  my  love  and  my  life 
will  both  go  out. 

"When  I  first  saw  you,  my  darling,  I  loved  you,  and  I  have  loved 
you  with  an  increasing  love  ever  since. 

*•  I  knew  you  loved  me,  and  I  hoped  and  dreaded  to  have  you  tell 
me  of  it. 

•*I  thought  I  was  free  to  marry  you,  but  I  also  knew  I  had  no  right 
to  do  so  with  a  secret  like  mine  locked  in  my  heart. 

•'  That  dreadful  but  ever  blessed  night,  when  in  the  midst  of  death 
you  spoke  the  love  I  felt,  I  was  supremely  happy. 

"I  thought  we  were  going  to  death  together,  and  that  I  need  not 
risk  your  contempt  by  telling  my  secret. 

"After  we  were  saved  I  tried  to  gain  courage  several  times  to  tell 
yon,  but  you  spoke  so  vehemently  about  any  previous  love  that  I  lost 
my  heart  and  weakly  held  my  tongue. 

*  ♦  Oh,  Honore,  if  you  could  but  realize  how  I  have  suffered  since,  you 
would  forgive  me. 

'*  My  heart  is  bruised  and  sore,  and  now  the  blows  that  fall  upon  it 
are  no  longer  felt. 

♦*  My  husband,  Clinton  Hastings,  has  come  for  me,  and  I  must  go  to 
him. 

"But  I  cannot  live  long  now.  I  know  it,  and  it  is  my  only  happi- 
ness. 

"Honore,  my  dear,  dear  Honore, 

**  Once  your  wife,  your  Geacb." 


196  THE  AMERICAN  MARQUIS. 

'^Oh,  Heaven!"  groaned  Clinton.  *^  Blind  fool,  sodden 
in  my  own  self-sufficiency,  I  sought  to  usurp  your  preroga- 
tive, and  I  am  fitly  punished." 

He  fell  upon  his  knees. 

'^Oh,  Heaven  I"' he  prayed,  ''let  me  atone  for  this  to  the 
patient  creature  who  has  borne  all  my  fiendish  torture  with- 
out even  murmur  of  complaint.  My  life  shall  be  devoted 
to  her  happiness  if  you  will  but  permit  me  to  still  have  her 
love.     I  do  not  deserve  it,  but,  oh.  Heaven  I  give  it  to  me." 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Gracious  Heaven!  she  may  be  here  at  any  moment,  Al- 
phonse." 

Alphonse  had  gone  with  Tete-de-Fer  and  Elise  to  make  a 
final  accounting  of  his  misdeeds. 

With  feverish  haste  Clinton  threw  off  the  clothes  that 
made  him  look  like  any  other  than  Honore,  and  listening 
to  every  footfall  with  terrified  anxiety,  he  at  last  was  ready. 

Locking  the  door  on  the  scene  of  death  he  hastened  down 
stairs. 

Grace  had  just  begun  to  question  the  porter. 

At  that  moment  she  saw  Honore. 


CHAPTER  LVL 

WHAT  HAPPEJS^ED  THEN. 

'^  Honore!'^  gasped  Grace." 

*^  Yes,  darling,  I.     Let  us  go  away  from  here/' 

*^  Have  you  been  to  D^Iberri?" 

''  Yes,  darling,  and  received  your  letter.  Poor  suffering 
little  Grace.  I  know*  everything.  More  even  than  you  do. 
Come." 

Grace  shook  her  head  sadly. 

''  I  cannot  go  with  you,  Honore.  I  promised  my — Clin- 
ton Hastings  that  I  would  come  to  him." 

'^I  know  it,  my  darling.  I  ha^ve  seen  him,  and  he  will 
meet  us  at  D'Iberri."  ^ 

''  Honore,  you  have  never  yet  deceived  me.  You  will  not 
doit  now?^' 

Clinton  groaned  when  bethought  how  he  had  done  noth- 
ing else  but  deceive  the  pure  and  trusting  woman. 

''  Grace^  I  swear  to  you  that  I  speak  the  truth." 


THE  AMERICAN  MAEQUIS.  197 

•*  Yon  need  not  swear,  Honore,  your  word  is  enough/^ 

There  was  an  infinite  sadness  in  her  sweet  voice. 

He  led  her  to  a  cab,  and  they  were  driven  to  a  railway. 

When  they  reached  D'Iberri,  Clinton  insisted  that  Grace 
should  eat  something. 

Then  he  led  the  way  to  the  square  chamber.  Grace  did 
not  even  shudder  now. 

Not  once  had  he  made  any  demonstration  of  aflEection.  She 
would  not  have  permitted  it. 

''Grace/'  he  said,  ''  I  have  brought  you  here  purposely 
to  tell  you  something  before  Clinton  Hastings  comes.  You 
have  been  teiTibly  tortured  by  that  man.'^ 

''  Don't,  Honore.  I  deserve  it  all  for  my  weakness.  I 
will  not  say  guilt,  for  I  intended  no  wrong.'' 

''  Everything  you  have  suffered  has  been  of  his  doing. 
He  has  pursued  you  like  a  fiend. 

''  He  is  sorry  for  it  now,  for  he  knows  you  are  as  pure  and 
innocent  as  an  angel. 

''He  thought  then  that  you  were  in  league  with  Al- 
phonse  to  murder  him  that^night. 

"  He  escaped  death  providentially,  and  he  swore  ven- 
geance in  this  very  room. 

"  I  want  to  plead  for  him,  Grace.  I  want  to  know  if  you 
can  forgive  him  for  what  he  has  done." 

"  He  was  justified,  Honore.  If  there  is  anything  for  me 
to  forgive  I  do  it  freely." 

''AH  the  while  he  was  making  you  suffer  he  loved  you, 
Grace.  He  loved  you  that  night,  and  he  has  been  well-nigh 
crazy  since  with  the  mad  struggle  between  his  love  and  his 
demoniac  desire  for  revenge. 

' '  Can  you  forgive  him  ?" 

"  Everything,  Honore." 

**  Can  you  love  him?" 

Grace  raised  her  blue  eyes  and  looked  at  Honore. 

"  No,  I  cannot  love  him." 

"Why?" 

"  Can  you  ask  me  why,  Honore?  For  the  last  time,  it 
may  be,  let  me  say  it.  I  love  you,  Honore,  and  only  you; 
my  heart  is  dead  to  everything  else. 

"  Is  it  because  he  has  been  so  cruel  to  you  that  you  can- 
not love  him." 

**  No.     If  I  loved  him  his  cruelty  would  not  change  me." 

*'  Do  you  mean  then  that  if  you  had   loved  him  as  you 


198 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS. 


ftve  me,  you  would  forgive  his  cruelty  and  love  him  still. 

*^Do  you  not  know,  Honore,  that  a  woman  loves?  And 
that  is  the  whole  story.  Cruelty  is  nothing.  A  woman 
merely  loves.  ^^ 

''  I  will  return  in  a  moment,  Grace. 

He  left  the  room. 

In  a  short  time  Clinton  Hastings  stood  before  Graca 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly/^ 


'^WHATEVER  THERE  IS  TO  FORGIVE,  AJ?"D  I  LOVE  YOU  AS 
WELL  AS  I  DID  YESTERDAY,  AND  THAT  IS  WITH  MY 
WHOLE   HEART,    SOUL,    AND  BEING/^ 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  and  drew  off  the  brown 
beard  and  wig. 

"  Grace,  I  am  Clinton  Hastings.^* 

''You!  your 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  spread  her  hands  before  her. 

''  Don't  turn  from  me,  darling.  I  have  been  wicked,  and 
deserve  only  your  hate. 


THE  AMEKICAN  MARQUIS.  199 

'^  But,  indeed,  I  truly  love  you^  and  always  have,  impos- 
Bibleas  it  may  seem. 

*^  Will  you  not  look  at  me,  Grace?  Will  you  not  forgive 
me?  If  any  torture  could  compensate,  I  would  readily  un- 
dergo it  to  pay  the  penalty  of  my  wickedness. 

''  I  dare  not  ask  for  your  love,  Grace,  but  humbly  I  ask 
for  a  chance  to  make  the  remainder  of  your  life  happy. 

*'  You  cannot  trust  me,  can  you?^^ 

He  stood  before  her  with  bowed  head. 

^'  Honore — I  will  call  you  so — I  cannot  explain  all  this 
to  myself.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  doubt  your  word,  when 
you  tell  me  you  made  your  loving  Grace  suffer  as  she  has. 

*'But  let  it  be  so.  It  has  proved  my  love.  You  can  never 
doubt  that  now.  Let  all  the  past  be  dead,  and  we  will  begin 
a  new  life  from  this  time." 

^'  You  forgive  me  then?** 

^'  Whatever  there  is  to  forgive,  and  I  love  you  as  well  as  I 
did  yesterday,  and  that  is  with  my  whole  heart,  soul,  and 
being.** 

^^  Oh,  my  angel,  Grace!** 

[thk  bnd.") 


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NiCKELgATE. 

lljBNoJ(ork.Chicago^^IjouisRX 


SOLID 
THROUGH 
TRAINS 


BQlfaio  am  GNcago 

X>IIVI3VO 

THROUGH  SLEEPING  CARS 

Between  CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK  and  BOSTON, 

BAGGAGE  CHECKED  TO  DESTINATION. 
Tickets  to  all  Points  East  or  West  at  Lowest  Rates. 

AT  CHICAGO  the  Depot  of  the  Nickel  Plate 
Road  is  located  at  Tw^elfth  St.  Viaduct,  cor. 
Twelfth  and  Clark  Sts.,  convenient  by  street 
car  or  elevated  R.  R.  to  any  part  of  the  city. 

AT  CLEVELAND  all  trains  stop  at  Euclid  Ave. 
and  Pearl  St,  and  at  Main  Passenger  Station 
Broadway  near  Cross  St. 

AT  BUFFALO  trains  run  into  Union  Depot  of 
the  Erie  Railw^ay. 

For  rates  and  other  information  consult  near- 
est Ticket  Agent,  or  address 

A.  W.  JOHNSTON,  B.  F.  HORNER, 

Gen'l  Sup't.  Gcn'l  Pass.  Agt. 

CLEVELAND,  OHIO. 

F.  J.  MOORE,  Cen'l  Agent, 

BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


"THE  RHINE,  THE 
ALPS  AND  THE 
BAHLEFIELD  LINE." 


The  Famous 


limited 


FAST  FLYING  VIRGINIAN 


Irlas    No    Equal    Bet-wreen 

CINCINNATI  AND  NEW  YORK, 

Via  "Wasliiiigtoii,  JEJaltimore,  and  ^Philadelphia. 

Vestibuled,  Steam  Heated,  and  Electric  Lighted  Throughout. 
THROUGH  DINING  CAB  AND  COMPLETE  PULLMAN  SEfiYICE. 

THROUGH  SLEEPERS  TO  AND  FROM 
ST.  LOUIS,  CHICAOO  AND  LOUISVILLE. 

The  most  interesting  historic  associations  and  the  most  striking  anq 
beautiful  scenery  in  the  United  States  are  linked  togetlier  by  the  C.  &  O. 
System,  which  traverses  Virginia,  the  flrst  foothold  of  English  settlers  in 
America,  where  the  Revolutionary  War  was  begun  and  ended,  and  where 
tl»e  great  biittles  of  tlie  Civil  War  were  fought;  crosses  the  Blue  Ridge  and 
Alleghany  Mountains  and  the  famous  ShenandoHh  Valley,  readies  the  cele- 
brjited  Sprinirs  region  of  the  Virginias,  and  lies  tlnough  the  canons  of  New 
RivHr.  where  the  scenery  is  grand  beyond  description.  It  follows  the  banks 
of  the  Kanawha  and  Ohio  Rivers,  and  penetrates  the  famous  Blue  Grass 
region  of  Kentucky,  noted  for  producing  the  greatest  race-horses  of  the 
world. 

For  maps,  folders,  descriptive  paniphlets.  etc.,  apply  to  Pennftylvania 
Railroad  ticket  offices  in  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Baltimore,  the  prin- 
cipal ti<'ket  offices  throughout  the  country,  or  any  of  the  following  O.  Jfc  O. 
agencies: 

NEW  YORK-362  and  1323  Broadway: 

WASFTrNGTON-513  and  1421  Penna.  avenue; 

CrNCFNNATr— Corner  Fifth  and  Walnut  streets  ;     - 

LOUrSVTLLE-253  Fourth  avenue; 

ST.  LOUIS  -Corner  Broadway  and  Chestnut  street; 

CHICAGO -234  Clark  street. 
C.  B.  RYANjAssistant  General  Passenger  Agent,  Cincinnati,  O. 

H.  W.  FUIiLEB,  General  Passenger  Agent,  Washington.  D.  C. 


j^I<?u/  Yor\[  apd  fl<^u/  ET)^\^r)6 


Travelers  between  New  York  and  Boston  should  always  ask  for 
tickets  via  the 

"new  ENGLAND  LIMITED"  TRAIN, 

Leaving  either  city  3.00  P.  M.  DAILY,  including  SUNDAY,  due  desti- 
nation 9.00  P.  M. 
Buffet  Smoker,  Parlor  Cars  and  Coaches.     Dining  Car  between  Boston 

and  Willimantic. 

See  that  your  tickets  read  via  NEW  YORK  and  NEW  ENGLAND  and 

"AIR  LINE"  ROUTE. 


The  Norixrich  Ijine, 

INSIDE  ROUTE. 

Steamers  leave  Pier  40,  North  River,  New  York,  5.30  P.  M.  week  dayp 

only.     Connecting  at  New  London  with  Vestibuled   Steamboat 

Express  Train  due  Worcester  8.00  A.  M.,  Boston  9.00  A.  M. 

RETURNING, 

Train  leaves  Boston  7.05  P.  M.  week  days  only.     Connecting  at  New 
London  with  Steamers  of  the  Line  due  New  York  7.00  A.  M. 
Tickets,  Parlor  Car  Seats,  Staterooms  on  Steamers,  and  full  infor- 
mation at  offices, 


tion,  !•] 
rer,     ) 


353  Broadwav, 

Grand  Central  Station,  J-  NEW  YORK. 

Pier  40,  North  River, 

822  Washington  St.,  )  -Rn<^TnV 

Station  foot  of  Summer  St.,  J  -^^^■»-^«- 


GEO,  F,  RANDOLPH,  General  Traffic  Manager,  Boston. 
W,  R,  BABCOCK,  General  Passenger  Agent. 
Jan.  11,  1894. 


^^♦»» 


THE    ROYAL    BLUE    LINE 

between  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Wash- 
ington, the  South,  and  South-west  is  conceded  to  be 
the  BEST  CONSTRUCTED  and  MOST  FINELY 
EQUIPPED  RAILROAD  in  the  country. 

THE    OLD    RELIABLE    ROUTE 

to  all  points  in  Interior  Pennsylvania— Reading, 
Barrisburg,  Gettysburg,  Pottsville,  Shamokin,  and 
Williamsport. 

THE  ROYAL  ROUTE  TO  THE  SEA. 

The  Double  Track  Line  between  Philadelphia 
and  Atlantic  City. 


X»  A.  8WEI0ARD,  General  Superintendent 

O.  Q-.  HANOOCK,  General  Paseenger  Agent 


T^KLK 


FOR  ALL  PRINCIPAL  POINTS  JN 

MISSOURI, 

KANSAS, 

INDIAN  TERRITORY, 
TEXAS, 

MEXICO,  AND 

CALIFORNIA. 


FREE  RECLINING  CHAIR  CARS  ON  ALL  TRAINS. 


IThrough  "Wagner  Palace  Buffet  Sleeping  Cars 

from  the  O-RXIA.T'   IjA-tCES  to  tbe 

GULF   OW   MEXICO, 


For  further  information  call  on  or  address  your  nearest 
Ticket  Agent,  or 

JAMics  b^kise:!:.,  g.  p.  &  t.  a., 

St.  Louis,  Is^o. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OP  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED   FOR   FAILURE  TO   RETURN 
THIS    BOOK   ON    THE   DATE   DUE.   THE   PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY    AND     TO    $1.00     ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

WAY    S  1941 M 

"FEB    28  1944 

- 

RECD  LO    OFT  7     • 

■»  ••  bw      \xXi  ( 

72  -7  PK|f^4 

LD  21-100m-7,'40 (6936s) 

YB  73G07 


jvi58090 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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